


Not Even the Bad Guys (Could Take it All Away)

by iambluehead



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Implied Anxiety, Liam is confused all the time, Louis is a little shit, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, You Have Been Warned, everyone is way too codependent, it may get gory later on sorry, mentions of past suicide attempts, oh and also theres loads of language, superhero au, there is loads of misunderstood feelings, this won't be a super sad fic don't worry, you name it this has got it, zayn has a dark past like all superheroes should
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:55:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 79,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iambluehead/pseuds/iambluehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away"<br/>Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okayyyy so hi guys! This is my first time posting a fic on ao3, and my first ever time posting a Ziam fic. I hope that this turns out ok, and this gets some sort of positive reaction. I'm really scared and really excited to see what people think!  
> In case the description wasn't clear, this is a story about superheroes. Basically, all the boys have superpowers, and Simon has hired them all to fight crime together in London. I hope it won't suck.  
> This fic was partially inspired by the superhero au fics of the rulers of Ziam fic, scottmcniceass and jmcats. I read theirs and got hooked on superhero aus, and then found a surprisingly lack of them in the fandom, so I decided to make my own contribution.  
> Disclaimer time! I do not live in England, so any mistakes involving anything to do with England are my fault and I apologize. I don't actually have a beta for this, so any writing mistakes/ spelling errors are also my fault. And finally, I do not own One Direction or anyone/anything affiliated with them, and this is not supposed to represent my views of anyone/anything involved with One Direction in real life. If I owned them, they would have better merchandise and marketing, among other things.  
> Thanks for reading and sorry this was so long.

Liam joined the military for two reasons: he never thought he’d do well in anything academic, and he doesn’t like bullies. Never has. And he gets that the military is sometimes the bully, but he can’t help but believe that joining will somehow help him do the right thing, like it’ll give him the heroic life of his favorite comic book characters.  
  
It’s why he’s kind of apprehensive when he’s called in for a special assignment when everyone else is getting their national (or global) postings. He doesn’t want to work for Cowell & Co., he wants to protect the innocent and defend England. But he listens, because he’s good at following orders, and because he doesn’t want to disappoint.  
  
“It’s a private organization that’d like to request an interview. They think your skills would be useful for their objectives.”  
  
Cut to two days later, and Liam’s being told that he isn’t a soldier anymore. He’s in a “special skills” initiative.  
  
“I can’t do anything special, sir. M’just—normal. With all—“  
  
Simon Cowell looks at him with this special pitying expression. “I understand if you’d rather not do this. If you’d rather go into your military career path, that’s perfectly fine.”  
  
Liam has been programmed not to ask questions, but he manages to get the largest one off the tip of his tongue before it weighs his jaws shut. “But?”  
  
Simon raises an eyebrow. “But?”  
  
And Liam isn’t smart, he really isn’t, but he knows that there’s a massive “but” waiting to be said here.  
  
“But I think it may be safer for you and everyone else involved if you thought about joining our organization.”  
  
In the end, Liam accepts the job even without knowing most of the details, and finds himself on the street corner waiting to be picked up by Simon’s employee—or maybe agent, he isn’t sure; Simon hadn’t been clear how Louis is associated with him—with a duffel bag full of clothes and a stomach full of butterflies.  
  
He’s waiting for a company car, or at least a polished one, something sleek and expensive looking, so when a dented rust-bucket pulls up next to the curb and a man in a t-shirt pokes his head out to call, “Liam, yeah? I’m Louis; y’can hop right in,” Liam is more than a little surprised. It doesn’t look like any sort of company operation that he’s ever seen.  
  
“Yeah, I’m Liam. D’you want me shotgun or in the back?”  
  
Louis shrugs easily, and Liam catches strains of Bruno Mars leaking out of the rolled down windows. “Whichever one you want, really. I’d say shotgun so we can have a chat without me turning around to look at you all the time, yeah?”  
  
Liam throws his duffel bag in the back and walks around to climb into the front seat. He swears he feels the car sink down two inches when he settles in.  
“So what can you do, Liam?”  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“What’s your thing? I mean, Simon recruited you for some reason, right? He’s never wrong.”  
  
_And okay, this is just getting weird_. “I think he employed me because I have military training.”  
  
Louis narrows his vividly blue eyes. “That’s it? Nothing else?”  
  
“No?”  
  
Louis sighs, flicks back his fringe to reveal an earpiece— _and people actually wear earpieces?_ —and says, “This one’s pretty confused. Might have to let Zayn sort him out when we get back, all right, love?”  
  
It takes Liam a moment to realize that no, Louis’ not talking to him but to the person on the other end of the earpiece. He’s about to say, “I could hear that, you know,” before catching himself and biting down on all his questions, saying instead, “Am I like a bodyguard, then?”  
  
Louis turns a sharp corner— _because shit, this guy is a bad driver_ —and mutters darkly, “Don’t think we need one with Niall around.”  
  
“So my job is—” And _no questions, Payne, you don’t have time for that in the field_.  
  
“Your job is to hang out with us for now, lad, yeah?”  
  
“S’not a job, though,” Liam mutters, scrubbing his hand up against the back of his neck and looking out the window with his stomach plunging half at the speed and half at the anxiety pooling in his insides.  
  
“It’ll be all right, lad. We’ll get you sorted out soon enough.”  
  
And while Liam half wishes he was with his regiment getting their post orders, he can’t help but wonder what’s going on here. 

  


A tall boy with curly hair opens the flat door, green eyes sparkling at Louis before settling on Liam with a politely quizzical expression.  
  
“This is him, then?”  
  
“I’m Liam, yeah.”  
  
The boy gives him an oddly scrutinizing look before nodding and looking pleased. “Harry.”  
  
“Nice to meet—”  
  
Louis shoves past him into the flat, smacking Harry’s ass playfully before shouting, “Oi, idiots, I’m home!”  
  
There’s a thundering of footsteps, and then a blond-haired blur comes racing over to the door.  
  
“Did ya bring him?” Liam has his hand grasped in an incredibly powerful handshake. “I’m Niall. Resident body guard, FIFA champ—”  
  
“That’d be me, actually—”  
  
“Shut it, Lou—and this lot’s personal Hulk minus the green.” The boy pauses, running the tip of his tongue over his lips. “And without the super-sizing, too, I guess.”  
  
“Don’t forget resident wanker,” Harry chimes in, and Niall snorts and shoves him into the doorframe.  
  
“Best be using those eyes for somethin’ a little more useful—unless, course, you’re interested.”  
  
Liam’s starting to feel like he’s walked into the dorm room of three best friends rather than a job he’s been especially recruited for. “Sorry, but could you tell me—”  
  
“Oh, and you’ll be wanting to meet Zayn, of course, yeah,” Louis says, pulling him inside the flat and shutting the door. “Y’want tea? Something stronger? You sure? And where is that wanker, anyway?”  
  
“In his room, yeah, said he’d be over in a minute,” Harry says easily, dropping onto a shitty-looking sofa in the next room. “If you’ve got your doubts about Liam, you might be able to get him to look.”  
  
“Doubts about my what?”  
  
And they all start talking at once, shouting over each other about superheroes and powers and Simon and Liam and just when it’s all starting to get to be too confusing, there’s a weird crackling sound, and Louis has streaks of blue lightning dancing off his fingertips.  
  
“ _What the_ —”  
  
“Oi, Lou, stop freaking the lad out, yeah? He’s probably pretty upset as it is.”  
  
The boys all freeze and turn and then Louis shouts, “And you’ve done nothing about it, just sat up there on your ass while we’re trying to get his shit together, yeah?”  
  
The newcomer laughs. “Was on the phone with Simon, actually. He’s got another mission; might be why he’s sent us this one. Are you here to stay, mate?”  
  
Liam waits for Louis’ reply before realizing that the other man is talking to him. “I—I—I’m just here cause Simon . . .”  
  
The newcomer walks over and fuck, even with everything that’s going, even with the _fucking lightning_ , Liam’s never seen anyone quite like that. He’s warm brown eyes and a steady, wry smile and skinny, ink-stained wrists poking out of the sleeves of a maroon jumper. He’s slight and has a slouch, and his eyes have faint circles under them like someone’s swiped sheer purple ink over his cheekbones instead of exhaustion. And God, Liam’s never seen someone quite that beautiful in real life.  
  
“Y’got him all messed up, now. What’re we supposed to do with him? Did Simon say anything?”  
  
Louis pouts. “Not hardly. He just sent us the lad and told me he was one of us. He doesn’t seem to have any grasp on his ability though. Thought you’d be able t’have a look at him, yeah?”  
  
“I’m still right here,” Liam said suddenly and shakily, finding his voice again. “How the fuck did you do that with the lightning?”  
  
Louis’ grin becomes sharp, and he flicks his wrist, the blue electricity springing to life on his fingers like they’re storm clouds. “Pretty cool, yeah? Niall here’s got super-strength, and Harry has X-ray vision. Oh—” He gestures to the brown-eyed boy with a careless hand, lightning still dancing in his palm. “And this is Zayn.”  
  
And somehow, Liam learns to take it all how it is, and somewhere along the line, starts to belong. 

  


The first thing Liam learns is that if you’re on the toilet, and you hear someone laughing as they pass, it’s probably Harry, because apparently spying on people when they wee never gets old. Also: never think you’re wanking in a safe place, or that you’re having a panic attack behind a safely closed door, or that anything can be private, ever. Harry is a snoop, and he is a masterful one.  
  
Next he learns that you should never ever get Niall overexcited—or least, more overexcited than he usually is—because he’ll end up punching in an entire wall and not even realize it. Also never hug him too tightly because you’ll get crushed, don’t try to play-fight with him for the same reason, and for God’s sake never deprive him of food—which has nothing to do with the Irish boy’s special abilities, and everything to do with his ever-unsatisfied stomach.  
  
While Liam’s keeping track of all that, Louis’ busy quietly and quite literally shocking everyone who isn’t paying attention to him, spreading static all over the place, and occasionally tinkering with the light switches to see if he can power the entire flat by himself. According to Harry, the boys have collectively fried five different phones by giving them to Louis to charge, even if Louis insists it was _only three, Styles, get your facts straight_. Liam keeps his phone near him at all times, and gives Louis suspicious looks every time it’s approached.  
  
And finally he learns that Zayn is not like him, powerless, but just doesn’t talk about what he can do. Zayn is a house full of locked doors and closed windows cloaked in curtains of shy smiles and eyes so warm no one bothers to draw them back. He can tell from the whispers of the other boys that Zayn has got something deeply powerful in him, but no one will tell him what. He asks Louis, and then Harry, and then Niall, but all anyone will say is, “Yeah, he’s a bit weird about what he can do. He’s not proud of it—not that there’s anything wrong with it, see, but he’s had some bad shit happen to him because of it.” And he asks Zayn outright, like, _what can you do, mate_ , but all he gets is a soft shrug and the mumble of “Nothing good” around the other boy’s next cigarette.  
  
He sees Simon again, who tells him that yes, the boys are something like superheroes, and yes, Liam is one too, he just has to wait. The abilities will come in their own time.  
  
“But how d’you know, sir?”  
  
Simon fixes him with a strict gaze. “I’m one myself, Liam.”  
  
“What can you do, sir?”  
  
There’s a short pause, and then he says, “I can recognize other “superheroes” without asking. A sixth sense, if you will. And right now it’s screaming that you’re one of us pretty loudly. It might take a while, but it’s in there, son.”  
  
Liam accepts this because he’s programmed not to ask questions, but deep down he knows he’s nothing special.  
  
Before long he’s also told the boys don’t actually get paid, per say, but Simon provides everything they could want or need, including their food, rent, and bills. And while it’s not a bad arrangement at all—it’s a relief not to have to worry about bills, or eat terrible military food—Liam can’t help but wonder why Simon’s doing it. He’s assuming that the boys’ abilities are in some way useful to him, but just how is beyond Liam.  
  
“It’s ridiculously superhero-y,” Louis huffs when Liam asks him a little timidly. “You’ll find out soon enough, though. We should have another mission soon—just can’t catch a break in this job.”  
  
“What job?”  
  
“You’ll find out,” Harry says, rolling his eyes as he emerges from the kitchen.  
  
Liam’s starting to find that Harry and Louis are nearly inseparable; he can’t figure out if they’re just very close friends, or (though the possibility is slim) perhaps something more.  
  
“Made you tea, love,” Harry adds, handing a mug to Louis and then thrusting one at Liam. “Drink up, it makes you strong.”  
  
“He doesn’t need to get any stronger,” Louis says drily. “He could probably snap you like a twig as it is.”  
  
Liam mumbles something vaguely denying into his tea—Harry’s already figured out how he takes it by some miracle of his nurturing nature—and can’t help but grin when Louis zaps his mug to make it hotter. It’s not bad, this ridiculously superhero-y life. 

  


Then the phone call comes, and Liam experiences his first mission. It’s a bustle of well-practiced actions and hurried donning of jackets and Harry rapping out orders passed down from Simon while on the phone with their elusive boss.  
  
“He says it’s a store on the corner of 9th and Grey Avenue, department story—is that right? Department _store_?—oh, okay, it’s a department store; big one, we won’t be able to miss it, yeah, and what else? It’s a robbery, they’ve got two hostages. We’ve got to get them both out safely; they’re teenagers.”  
  
“Teenagers,” Louis said disgustedly. “Sons of bitches took a couple of fucking teenagers. That’s just sick, man, just sick.”  
  
“I know, mate, it’s—Niall don’t you dare—ah, fuck, and there he goes.” Harry sighs. “Liam, help Niall, would you, mate? Thanks loads. We’ve got to fucking hurry—Louis, love, your shoes are in the closet, not the pantry—oh, and thanks, Li, you all ready? Nervous?”  
  
“Not even sure what I'm supposed to be doing, to be honest,” Liam mumbled, trying not to feel bumbling and awkward and stupid.  
  
“Oh, you’ll probably just stand outside with me while I keep watch; it’ll be good to have some backup. Y’might go in with the boys—Simon, where do you want Liam? Can he be my backup? Really? Brilliant, thanks—you’re my backup, love, now run and see if Zayn has brought up the car.”  
  
And Liam stumbles out of the hustling apartment to run downstairs and sees the shitty car Louis picked him up in—and will that even fit all of them?—with Zayn in the front seat.  
  
“You ready to go?”  
  
Zayn startles and then relaxes as he realizes it’s Liam. “Yeah. Are they coming down soon?”  
  
“Uh—”  
  
Zayn cuts him off with a half shrug and a rueful, understanding smile. “Soon enough, then.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess.” Liam slides into the backseat because he’s fairly sure Harry will be riding shotgun with the directions. “D’you know what happened?”  
  
He hopes he’s imagining the flicker of worry in Zayn’s eyes—or was it annoyance?—when the older boy twists around in his seat to look at him.  
  
“It’s a robbery. Five men, I think, and they’ve got two teenagers—”  
  
“I know that, but do you know why?”  
  
Zayn looks at him with a trace of undisguised approval, like _I like the way you think, bro._ “Not really sure. Simon’s thinking just money. Maybe just a coupla crazies who want a power trip, you know?” He stares at his hands, still clenched on the wheel. “I just know we’ve gotta get those kids out.”  
  
Before Liam has time to say anything, the other three boys come tearing down and pile into the car—Louis jumping in shotgun—and then Harry’s saying, “Go, go, go, fucking faster, Zayn, Jesus Christ,” and Liam barely has time to think before he realizes that none of them are armed.  
  
“Don’t we need guns?” he asks Niall over the babble of Harry and Louis’ voices.  
  
Niall grins almost disturbingly. “Don’t need guns when I’ve got _these_ guns, baby.”  
  
Liam tries not to roll his eyes at the way Niall flexes one pale arm (he knows that Niall could snap him like a twig, and for someone who hasn’t been the littler guy since secondary school, it’s a little weird). “No, seriously.”  
  
“No,” Harry says, “seriously. We’re not armed.”  
  
“But—it’s not like—no offense—but it’s not like you can fight anyone with what you can do, right?”  
  
If he didn’t know Harry better, he’d say the other boy’s smile turned vicious. “Course not. That’s why I have you around, yeah? I just stand outside and keep watch and send in reinforcement if the boys need it. And anyway—I may not be able to fight anyone, but I will be able to see them coming.”  
  
Liam doesn’t have a response to that, but somehow he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to walk into an armed robbery with not weapons whatsoever. Maybe they secretly are armed. Maybe Zayn can shoot bullets out of his fingertips or something.  
  
Zayn snorts in almost-laughter as if he’d heard; quickly recovering, he pulls up onto the curb—a terrible parking job—and turns off the car. “We’re here, let’s go.”  
  
Louis, Niall, and Zayn all spring out of the car and start walking to the building, which has two police cruisers in front of it.  
  
“In through the back, boys?”  
  
Zayn nods, wincing. “It’s getting bad.”  
  
“You all right?” Louis asks softly, grabbing his shoulder.  
  
“Not as bad as those kids will be in fifteen minutes. We’d better go.”  
  
Louis opens his mouth, shuts it, and turns to Harry, who’s staring at the building intensely, a far-off look in his eyes.  
  
“You got us covered, love?”  
  
“You know it.”  
  
“And you’ve got Haz covered, Liam?”  
  
“Sure,” Liam says, still missing the weight of a gun at his hip. “Hurry up.”  
  
Louis nods shortly and spins on his heel, the other two boys flanking him as they disappear around the corner of the building.  
  
“I don’t like this,” Liam mutters.  
  
Harry doesn’t pull his eyes away from the store. “You have a bad feeling or something?”  
  
“Three unarmed civilians just went into a building that’s being held up by gunmen with hostages,” Liam says stiffly. “And I let them. I’m not feeling great, no.”  
  
“But no like sixth sense stuff, right?”  
  
Liam suddenly remembers he’s supposed to have superpowers. “No—nothing other than they could very well get killed.”  
  
“Okay.” Harry blinks and looks at him with a tired, dopey smile. “They’ll be fine. We’ve been doing this for—shit, I don’t know—four years? Louis and Zayn’ve been doing it for even longer. They’ve got it down. Nothing can hurt those three, I guarantee it.” He pauses. “They’re on the right floor now. Hopefully won’t be too long.”  
  
There’s a long silence and Liam can do nothing but watch as Harry paces anxiously, sucks in a breath, and then mutters, “Okay; go. It’s clear.” Apparently he’s watching the fight going on inside, because at one point he winces and hisses and then mutters, “Be fucking careful, you idiot, I’d be a bit upset if you died, you know.”  
  
“What’s going on?” Liam feels helpless, and he fucking hates feeling helpless.  
  
“They’ve got it under control. Niall and Zayn got roughed up a little but Niall dealt with it. And they’re sending the kids downstairs.”  
  
“That fast?”  
  
Harry gives him a real grin this time, all dimples and teeth and glowing eyes. “Like I said, mate, don’t underestimate us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I went back and changed a few minor things, mainly just italicizing the stuff I wanted italicized because apparently it doesn't show up on here until you code it in. Other than that no major changes; I think I changed a few words, if that.  
> Also: I'm working on indents! I know it looks super shitty right, but I can't figure out how to put them in even with html. If you know how, leave a comment or something maybe, and I'll fix it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away"  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I wasn't going to post this until the weekend, but then the ziam kiss interview came out (!!!), and now today this whole drama with zerrie, so I figured we could all use some ziam fic to cheer up. As a result, only half of this is proofread and edited, so I apologize for any and all mistakes.  
> Didn't mention this in the first chapter, but this fic is loosely based on 1d's song Once in a Lifetime.  
> All usual disclaimers apply!

Zayn’s juggling three cups of coffee and his keys, but somehow he manages to get the flat door open in a mildly dignified manner and close it quietly enough not to wake the three sleeping boys. Tiptoeing through the flat isn’t easy either—not with the continual debris that surrounds five single lads in their twenties—but he’s been living there long enough that he knows where to avoid. He stumbles into the office without too much damage, hip-bumps the door closed with zero spillage, and turns around to face Liam, who’s sitting in front of three computer monitors with a hopeless expression on his face.  
  
“Got anything yet, babe?”  
  
Liam groans and spins around in his chair to face him, holding out eager hands for the coffee. “Nothing at all. We’re never gonna find them at this rate. And even if we do, I’ll be too exhausted to do anything about them. At this rate, I’ll be dead by the time we find them.”  
  
Zayn shrugs sympathetically and perches on the edge of the desk to sip his drink and absorb the faint blue light from the screens. “Well, drink up, anyway. S’not the solution to death, but it’s pretty damn close.”  
  
Liam chuckles weakly. “Why’d you get three?”  
  
“Third one’s for me after you pass out.”  
  
“I'm not gonna do that this time. That was a mistake. That was _one time_.”  
  
“Yeah, and who got stuck with all the work that _one time_?”  
  
There’s a short silence, and then Liam scrubs a hand through his short hair awkwardly. “I really am sor—”  
  
Zayn feels a quick jab of guilt. “M’just giving you a hard time. I don’t actually mind, Li.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Zayn sits back on the desk, tucking his feet up so he can rest his chin on his knees, and watches as Liam scrolls through seemingly endless pages of photos, trying to find a match for the couple they were looking for. The two had been terrorizing the city for weeks—just small thievery cases and muggings at first, but it had gradually built up to five murders over the period of a few days. Simon had put them on the case, and all five boys have been taking shifts looking through apartment and neighborhood surveillance footage to see where the couple potentially lived. It didn’t strike Zayn as the most efficient way to do it, but that could have something to do with the fact that it’s three thirty in the morning, and he can’t have gotten more than eight hours of sleep in the past five days.  
  
“You know,” Liam says in a hushed voice after a few minutes, “if I had to pick a superpower, right now it would be the ability to magically find things.”  
  
“It’d be useful.”  
  
“You can’t—?”  
  
Zayn shakes his head too quickly because, no, magically finding things it not within his power. Unless he’s looking for it inside someone’s head. “Sorry, mate. Would’ve done it by now.”  
  
Liam hesitates and then nods, going back to scrolling with pursed lips. He doesn’t ask what Zayn can do, despite the fact that Zayn knows he’s just dying to. And as grateful as he is for that, he can’t help but feel guilty for shutting Liam out. Again.  
  
It’s been almost a year since Liam’s been with the boys, but in all that time, Zayn hasn’t told him what he can do, and Liam hasn’t found a power of his own. Zayn knows both things weigh heavily on the other boy’s mind, and he’d do anything to fix the latter, but he can’t bring himself to show Liam the terrible, destructive things he’s capable of when it’s such an ugly, broken part of him. He doesn’t want sunshine-smiled, crinkly-eyed Liam look at him with the fear and disgust Zayn’s seen in so many people’s eyes.  
And the worst thing is that Liam seems to understand.  
  
“I’ll take a turn now,” Zayn says abruptly. “You’ve been working long enough.”  
  
Liam looks up with slight amusement, like he knows this is Zayn’s inadequate way of apologizing. “Just since you went to get the drinks. I’m fine.”  
  
“Oh.” He looks down at his cup. “I guess you’re right. Okay.”  
  
“But,” Liam continues, “I could use some double-checking. If you’d come look over my shoulder while I scroll that’d be brilliant.”  
  
“Right.” Just like his offer is the best apology Liam will get, Zayn knows that this is the closest he’ll get to an _it’s okay_.  
  
So Zayn stands behind Liam with one hand on the other boy’s shoulder and the other clenched around his coffee cup, making sure Liam doesn’t miss anything with his mind anywhere but the parade of surveillance photographs in front of him. Long minutes tick by with only the sound of the keyboard—Liam, for some reason, is an agonizingly slow typist—and their synchronized breathing as a soundtrack, and Zayn’s always been good at silence, but something about this is almost agonizing.  
  
“Li.”  
  
Liam laughs quietly, the tired huff of his shoulders making Zayn’s hand bounce up. “Talkative today?”  
  
“Oh, shut it. I just wanted to know if it’s okay if I sit on the armrest.”  
  
“You know I don’t mind.”  
  
“Yeah.” Zayn settles down onto the narrow arm of the chair. “I know.”  
  
There’s another short silence, and then Liam mutters, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” and pulls Zayn down onto his lap. Zayn squeaks in surprise and tries not to spill his coffee.  
  
“Will you just check me now that you’re comfortable?”  
  
“Who says I’m comfortable? Your lap is no throne of comfort, babe.”  
  
“You’re not very cuddly either. Try having your bony ass on your lap.”  
  
  
Liam smiles into Zayn’s shoulder and doesn’t say anything. And somehow, the silence is no longer quite so agonizing.

  


In the end, it’s Harry who finds the picture of the couple, hidden in a file of mall security footage. Louis and Niall take over the job of finding out more info, and the rest of them have a little break. Or at least, as much of a break as they ever get, because there’s always petty crime to be fought and more villains to defeat, even if that isn’t as nearly as great as it sounds. Being a superhero—even if Liam isn’t _technically_ a superhero—is fucking exhausting. There’s a lot of computers, tracking, and gathering information before they even get to go on a mission, and the aftermath of succeeding, as exhilarating as it is, is tiring, with all of them curled around each other from the drag of the physical exertion and the mental strain of having to focus their gifts for so long.  
  
So when they are on a break, Liam tries to use it as best as he can. That means splitting his time between the gym, the couch, and his bed fairly evenly, usually curled up with one or more of the boys in a sleepy, TV series binge-watching pile if he’s doing one of the last two. It feels weirdly good, like having the uni experience he never had in the military. Right now he’s in a tangled up cuddle with Harry watching _Parks and Rec_ because even though Liam wants to start _Game of Thrones_ , Harry swears that “I’ve had enough of that shite with Zayn, honestly; the two of you can watch it together sometime, but I want a laugh today.”  
  
“All right, all right,” Liam mumbles. “No _Game of Thrones_ today.”  
  
“Damn right.” Harry stretches and turns on the telly. “You know you love it. You and Zayn are just like April and Andy.”  
  
Liam snorts. “Who’s who?”  
  
“Is that even a question? He’s obviously April. You’re a little bundle of sunshine, you could never be her.”  
  
“Yeah.” Liam bites back the obvious inquiry-- _if I'm happy, why isn't Zayn?_ \-- because even after a year the discipline of _no questions_ is still pounded into him.  
  
“He’ll tell you eventually.”  
  
Liam doesn’t even flinch. Harry always seems to know, and Liam’s not sure if that has to do with the fact that he’s an insufferable snoop, or if he just has good intuition. “Yeah, I guess so.” He hesitates, because it feels a little unfaithful, somehow, to be complaining, but eventually he says, “I just—I dunno why he doesn’t trust me, yeah?”  
  
“He does,” Harry says softly, not looking away from the screen. “He loves you, Li, it’s just—”  
  
And then Harry breaks off, just like the boys always do, because there’s something that none of them will say about Zayn that's driving Liam crazy. And even though he’s had this conversation with each of the boys more than once throughout the time he’s been with them, none of them will spill.  
  
“Is it that bad?” Liam asks in a rush, letting the words spill out, hasty blood from a loose tooth.  
  
“Bad how?” Harry’s face is calculatedly blank, his eyes still on the TV.  
  
“What he can do—is it—is it evil or something or—?”  
  
“Nooo.” His voice is long and drawn out, lips lingering around the “o” like he needs time to think. “He’s not evil, Li.”  
  
And that sounds like Harry is hurt, or disappointed, and Liam hurries to correct him. “No—that’s not what I meant—I just meant like, I mean—I don’t know why he’s ashamed of it, or why—”  
  
“I know what you meant.” And God, Harry talks so fucking slow; sometimes Liam just wants to shake the words out of him. “I’m just trying to tell you that he’s not anything bad, Liam.” There’s something fragilely defiant in Harry’s eyes when he finally looks at him. “He just hasn’t realized that yet.”

  


“Oy, Tommo, over here, yeah?”  
  
Louis pokes his head around the corner. “What d’you need?”  
  
“Harry n’ Zayn think they’ve got a lead on where the couple lives.”  
  
“About fucking time.” Louis slips through the doorway and comes to peer over Harry and Zayn’s shoulders with Liam. “Where’s Horan?”  
  
“At the gym.” Liam snorts. “God knows why; it’s not like he needs it.”  
  
“Look who’s talking,” Zayn said dryly, eyes still on the screen, where he was typing in a line of code.  
  
“Did you text him, at least?” Louis asks.  
  
“Course.” Liam watches Zayn’s hands fly over the keyboard while Harry’s eyes flicker over the pictures on the screen. “What’re you doing? I thought you already got the sighting.”  
  
“Just seeing if it matches,” Harry says. “Zayn’s pulling up the files of fits that we have so we can compare.”  
  
God, Liam never thought being a superhero was this fucking technical. “Will we do a mission tonight if we’ve got them, them?”  
  
“Probably not tonight,” Harry and Zayn say in unison. They chuckle and jostle each other companionably before Zayn continues, “Tomorrow or the day after, just so we can pin them down and—y’know—make sure n’ stuff. We shouldn’t have to wait to long.” He punches in a few last triumphant keys and then spins around in his chair with a teasing grin. “I know you’re dying to bust out those muscles again.”  
  
“Shut up, that’s Niall you’re thinking about, yeah,” Liam mumbles, rolling his eyes.  
  
“ _We have a match_ ,” Harry says excitedly. “That’s them. Mr. and Mrs. Walson, living at 223 Spearhead Drive.”  
  
There’s a general slapping of backs and soft cheering as they congratulate each other. It’s always a good feeling, somehow, to know that they’ll be tracking down another criminal—it's like a sugar rush to know that they’re saving someone.  
  
Then the door bursts open, and Niall rushes in, sweaty and breathless.  
  
“Ey, lads—what did I miss?”

  


They plan a mission for Friday. It seems both far too soon, and not nearly soon enough for Liam. Half of him can’t wait—despite all the grittiness and blood and gore that comes with the job, there’s still something so childishly appealing about helping superheroes (he no longer presumes to include himself as a superhero; it’s been too long for him to have any more illusions about being one, no matter what Simon says). But there’s another, more grown up, more somber half of him that realizes that no matter how many criminals they take down or people they save, they’re always in danger—danger of discovery or injury or death, but also just danger of carelessness or arguing or a petty moment that could cost them the world.  
  
Vigilance has always been Liam’s strong suite.  
  
It’s something to do with feeling useless that has him hurrying around the flat preparing for Friday when it’s only Wednesday evening—checking to make sure that their guns are in order (they never even used guns before Liam came and insisted that no matter how many different ways they could kill people with their various powers, they needed some additional protection), looking to see if they all have shoes and bandages and water bottles, and _we’re not going on a fucking camping trip Li, yeah? Give it a break; we’ll be fine, love, we’re always fine_.  
  
But Louis’ comment does nothing to make Liam feel better, and for some reason he has a terrible feeling about this next mission, and by now he’s learned that there’s nothing he can do when these waves of panic hit but sit and wait it out, so he goes to his bedroom and shuts the door and hopes that Harry is nowhere in the nearby vicinity to see him shudder his way through the next half hour or so.  
  
_What if someone gets hurt, or what if we’re not prepared, and what if I can’t look out for them all, and what if this time I fuck up and they decide they don’t need me, what if—_ Liam tries to stop himself, but the panicky chaos in his head will not be drowned out.  
  
“’ey—Liam?”  
  
Liam doesn’t have the energy to lift his head. “Now’s not the best time, Harry, yeah.”  
  
“S’not Harry.”  
  
And yeah, there’s only one person in the flat who smushes the syllables of his name together like that so it sounds like Leeyum. He should’ve known.  
  
“Still not the best time, mate.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Zayn sighs deeply. “Just—don’t worry bout Friday, yeah? I know—I know y’get a little nervous sometimes, but—we’re always all right. Even when we fuck stuff up, we’re still okay—most of the time.”  
  
“Yeah, Louis told me already,” Liam says heavily.  
  
“All right.” Zayn doesn’t push it, thank God—Zayn never pushes anything too far, somehow. “And, like, babe—we do need you, y’know. Like, a lot.”  
  
Liam looks up in shock, because that’s a thought that rarely leaves his head. Zayn shrugs sheepishly. “I mean—dunno. Sometimes, it just looks like—I mean, we need you. Like, I dunno how we got on before you were here making sure we don’t all get ourselves killed. It’s just—God, okay, I’ll stop talking. Sorry. I’ll leave y’alone, now, mate.”  
  
“No, I—” Liam’s equal parts gratified, because even though that barely pushed back the tidal wave of nerves, it was a comforting thing to hear, and surprised, partially because he didn’t really think anyone could tell how he worried about being dead weight, and partially because Zayn—usually so graceful with his words, even if he wasn’t as verbose as Louis—was stumbling over his sentences like he wasn’t quite sure how Liam would receive them. “Yeah. Thanks.”  
  
Zayn nods and steps back out into the hall, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

  


Friday comes, and Liam is a jittery ball of nerves. Fuck butterflies, honestly; it feels like an entire party of centipedes have set up camp in his stomach, and he can’t help but hope that his performance during the mission won’t be affected by his anxiety.  
  
He’s already a vulnerability as it is.  
  
It’s Louis’ turn to stay outside and keep watch with Harry, so that means Liam’s going into the house with Niall and Zayn. He’s not scared, because he knows that he’ll be in good hands with Niall—Zayn, he’s learned, tends to go off by himself during a mission because God forbid he drop his cover of mystery, right?—but he is nervous. Maybe it’s just the way this particular mission is set up; they’ve somehow figured out a pattern to the couple’s attacks, and according to the pattern, the next strike will be in a rich neighborhood outside of London, at the house of a young couple with three dogs. So the boys’ plan is simple, really: Liam and Niall will protect the couple and create as much of a distraction as they can, while Zayn will get as close to the attackers as he can and . . . do whatever Zayn does. Liam’s never seen him in action, but he knows it’s effective. Two missions ago, Zayn dealt with an abusive pimp single handedly, and the man had come out of the room stuttering and almost unable to recall his own name. Zayn’s face had been hard as stone.  
  
But regardless of what had happened in the past, Liam still doesn’t like how they’re going to do it tonight.  
  
He doesn’t say anything. There’s a sort of exuberance in the air that makes him hold back, because he knows how much they all love doing this, saving people (Liam included), and he’d be damned if he tried to ruin that for them. He knows the boys are confident in their abilities, knows that they pride themselves on what they can do (except for Zayn, obviously), and maybe, just maybe, it’s Liam’s jealousy speaking.  
  
Or maybe it’s his common sense.  
  
“Ready, Payno?”  
  
“As much as I’ll ever be.”  
  
Niall frowns. “Not nervous, are ya?”  
  
He swallows, takes a deep breath, fiddles with the collar of his jacket. “Nope.”  
  
“Sure?” There’s a note of real concern in the blond boy’s voice now, and Liam has never wanted anyone to shut up as much as he wants Niall to right now.  
  
“Absolutely, Nialler.”  
  
Niall opens his mouth again, but Zayn brushes by and mutters, “Drop it, Horan,” and Niall ends up just nodding and heading for the door, calling, “Just don’t get cold feet when you’re watchin’ my back, yeah?”  
  
“Course not.” He turns to Zayn, who raises an expectant eyebrow. “What?”  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Liam fights down a stupid tide of emotions, because yeah, he’s grateful that Zayn cares, but at the same time he’s so fucking sick of being nervous and on edge, and he hates feeling weak, and by asking him that Zayn’s just acknowledging that he’s weak, and why should he tell Zayn anything when Zayn never gives back, anyway?  
  
“Fine,” he says shortly, and brushes by him to the door, ignoring the faintly surprised and hurt expression on the other boy’s face.  
  
Maybe his mood is rubbing off, because no one says anything in the car. Zayn’s eyes are fixated on the road and his face is blank, calm even, and that helps soothe the squirming in Liam’s stomach more than Harry’s brief arm squeeze or Niall’s whisper of “I trust ya, Payno.”  
  
Of course they trust him. He’s just not sure if that trust is founded.  
But you know, whatever. All he’s got to do is make a ruckus and watch Niall’s back while Zayn does the heavy lifting. He’s sure he can manage that, at least.  
  
“Ready?” Louis asks.  
  
Niall and Liam nod in unison; Zayn shrugs, shoulders hunched. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He looks like he desperately needs a cigarette.  
  
“Wicked. Meet y’outside when you lot are done, yeah? Don’t get killed or do anything stupid.”  
  
“Coming from who?”  
  
“Shut it, Horan. Get in there.”  
  
“Aye, aye.”  
  
The boys bump fists all around, and then they enter.

  


“Niall, down,” Liam hisses.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I think I heard something.”  
“I’m telling ya, Zayn got them good. They won’t wake up for a few hours, and when they do, I dunno if they’ll even remember their own names.”  
  
“I just—” Liam stops and shakes his head. “You’re right, never mind. Let’s get out so we can go.”  
  
They make their way to the door, Liam grabbing the back of Niall shirt so that Niall won’t walk himself into an ambush because even though, yeah, this job is technically done and everything went fin, Liam still has a bad feeling. Something feels unfinished.  
  
Then: “ _Down_!”  
  
He grabs Niall by the scuff of his neck and forces him to the ground just as shots break out about their heads. Niall shoves him off easily and shouts up at the snipers on the stairwell, “What the fuck, mate, you wanna go, yeah? You wanna fuckin’ go? You lot were supposed to be fucking out, yeah, you want another taste?”  
  
Liam grabs him again and tries to pull him back to the floor. “They have back up, you bloody _wanker_ , now get the _fuck_ down next to me.”  
  
Niall flings himself down just as the second round goes off, and they both scrabble in their waistbands for the guns that Liam—thank fuck—now makes them all carry. They can’t see who’s shooting, and Liam’s pretty sure that Niall has no idea how the fuck to use a gun, but the familiar weight is a little reassuring.  
  
“How the fuck are we gonna get out of here?” Niall whispers when the shots cease. “And where the fuck is Zayn? Y’think he’s all right?”  
  
Liam goes cold when he thinks of Zayn trapped upstairs where they’d last seen him, maybe hiding behind a locked door, maybe running for his life, maybe staring down the barrel of a gun. He forces himself to breathe.  
  
“I can’t believe they had back up,” he mutters, deciding to ignore Niall’s question rather than share the iciness that’s slowly eating up his insides when he thinks about where Zayn could be. “Why would they do something like that? I thought they were a solo op?”  
  
“Apparently not,” the other lad grunts shifting his weight on the floor. “Nothin’ we can do about it now. At least the home owners are out safe.” He pauses, licking his lips. “We gonna make a run for it, or what, Payno?”  
  
Liam draws in a deep breath, weighs the pros and cons, and then makes up his mind. “Yeah. Count of three, yeah?”  
  
Niall’s grin grows wolfish. “You just tell me when, mate. I trust ya.”  
  
Liam manages to fling him a grin back before quickly assessing the situation above them. He’s guessing the shots came from upstairs on the banister; whoever was up there would be able to shoot from around the corner, explaining why the pair hadn’t actually seen them. Hopefully, he and Niall would be able to make it across the room to the door if Liam went behind shooting, and Niall busted open the door for them. _Yeah—that’s our best chance. Definitely_.  
  
“Okay.” Liam checks his gun. “One.”  
  
Niall closes his eyes, crosses himself, and then winks at Liam.  
  
“Two.”  
  
He feels like his heart is beating loud enough for the whole world to hear.  
  
“ _Three_.”  
  
They take off running.

  


Louis’ already waiting in the car; Zayn, by some miracle, is in the backseat, and when Niall and Liam pile in, Niall shouts, “ _Go, go, go_ ” and they tear away from the curb.  
  
“Okay, brief me on what happened upstairs, please?” Liam asks.  
  
“Right,” Zayn says, and he looks exhausted, beyond exhausted, and Liam almost feels bad for bothering him, “right, so like, you were upstairs getting the couple out safe, right? I got the attackers sorted out—they shouldn’t be back up for a few days, probably, and they won’t remember anything about this—and I was bout to go downstairs and meet up with you lot, yeah, but then I heard shots, yeah, so I was out the motherfuckin’ window—met Lou out here and we sat round listening to the shots and stuff—wanted to go in after you, but Harry said y’had it under control, and he went around the corner to see who was shooting, and then you lot came up, and yeah.”  
  
Liam nods, feeling so fucking relieved that it’s all over. He still has a knot of nerves in his stomach, but it’s okay, it’s okay—they’re home now, here’s the flat building, everything’s fine, and then—  
  
A look of horror dawns on Zayn and Louis’ faces at exactly the same time.  
  
“ _Where’s Harry_?”

  


“We lost him. I can’t believe he left without him.” Louis looks up at Zayn, his face tight in the tense silence of the car. “We shouldn’t have let him leave on his own. He can’t do shit on his own.”  
  
“He would’ve seen if anyone was coming,” Liam whispers, but Louis doesn't seem to have heard.  
  
“We need to go back.”  
  
No one argues, and Louis wheels the car around too quickly for any protests anyway.  
  
“I can’t believe that I left him.” The older boy’s voice trembled. “I—”  
  
“Lou, s’not your fault.”  
  
“Yes it is,” Louis snaps. “I should’ve gone with him. It was my turn to stay outside and help him keep watch, and make sure he was okay, and it—it was my turn, and now he’s gone.”  
  
“He’ll be fine, Tommo. He’ll just be waitin’ on the sidewalk real confused n’ all. He’s okay.”  
  
“You don’t know that,” Louis mutters darkly.  
  
The drive back to the house feels much longer than the drive to the flat had been, and Zayn feels Liam shift beside him nervously; he silently puts his hand Liam’s knee and squeezes, half to comfort Liam, and half to ease the squirming knot of nerves in his own stomach. _You should have noticed, you should have known, you should have heard_.  
  
The house is silent. Liam and Niall tear through in minutes while Louis and Zayn scour the streets around the block. The neighborhood is quiet and the house is abandoned. When they call Harry’s phone, his answering machine picks up.  
  
“ _Fuck_.”  
  
Louis sounds close to tears.  
  
“Louis—”  
  
“Shut up.” He tries to slam his fist into the brick wall of the house, but Liam catches his arm. “Maybe he started to go home.”  
  
They drive home in silence.

  


It’s been an hour. Liam feels sick. Niall’s talking too loudly, saying how Harry will be home any minute, how he gets lost all the time, how _he’s okay, lads, ayyy, don’t worry_. Zayn is standing in the corner, curled into himself with his eyes closed.  
  
Louis looks like he can’t breathe.  
  
Liam can remember the first time he’d asked Louis about Harry, stumbling over his words a little as he asked if the two were dating because, _God, how could they not be_? But Louis had just laughed easily and denied everything, hands skimming over Harry’s curls and blue eyes intently fond on the other boy’s face. Harry had blushed and curled into Louis’ chest despite their size difference, and Liam had known from then that whatever they said, the two boys shared something that went beyond your standard friendship. He can’t imagine how Louis must feel now, waiting for Harry to show up—they’re all upset and worried, but Louis, Louis is in agony.  
  
Liam almost wishes that they’d found a body; that’d be better than wondering whether he got kidnapped or shot and dragged away or lost. _Stop shaking. Be strong_. He thinks of Harry stumbling around the streets of London, shot or hurt or—stop thinking. He’s shaking even harder now, and he should have kept a sharper eye out because he’s supposed to take care of them all, after all, and he was the one that felt something was wrong. _Fuck_.  
  
“—and I’m sure he’s just wanderin’ around lookin’ for us, he’ll stumble up here eventually, Lou, don’t worry—”  
  
“Niall.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Niall presses his lips together and stops talking. Louis closes his eyes again. Liam tries to take a deep breath. Then:  
  
“Lads . . .”  
  
“ _What_?” Louis sounds like he’s at the end of his rope.  
  
Niall looks sick. “Where’s Zayn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was kinda all over the place...sorry for the ending yikes.  
> Also: thank you to everyone who read this, especially the people who commented/left kudos. You guys are the best and thanks for your lovely comments! (feel free to do it again just sayin...)  
> I'm working on chapter 3, so it may be up this weekend, or maybe sometime next week since school is getting crazy. I love you all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 yay!! This isn't quite the chapter I was planning on writing, because I started going and then got carried away with emotions instead of plot and yeah....the stuff that was supposed to be in this chapter will probably be spread out over the next two now. We'll see. But I hope you like this one anyway.  
> I wouldn't really say there's any real trigger warning type stuff in here, but just to be safe rather than sorry, please do keep in mind the tags and archive warning. I don't think it's that bad at all, but I'd rather be sure.  
> This picks up right where the last chapter left off, by the way. All usual disclaimers apply.

Liam slowly turns to the corner where Zayn had been standing and—he feels something like the physical manifestation of a scream.  
  
“Zayn!” Niall bellows. “Get your ass over here!”  
  
“He’s probably just in his room calling Simon again,” Louis says breathlessly. “I’ll go get him.”  
  
He dashes into the hall, and now it’s Liam who can’t breathe because no, they can’t lose two in one night, that’s not fair. He can’t take this. _They can’t take Zayn, too_.  
  
Louis comes back, face grim.  
  
“Well?”  
  
He just shakes his head, catching Niall’s eye. “It’s Tammany all over again.”  
  
Niall sucks in a breath. “Fuck—y’think so?”  
  
“I’ll bet you everything I own.”  
  
“What’s Tammany?” Liam asks faintly.  
  
“It was a job we worked a few months before you came. Tammany Hall, yeah, it was a big robbery n’ everything. And Zayn—right after we finished the job we couldn’t find him; turned out that he’d gone off on his own and went after t’two thieves that we couldn’t find.” Niall sighs. “I mean, he got them n’ all but he got beat up pretty bad. Dunno what he was thinkin’.”  
  
“So you don’t think he was kidnapped? You think he—”  
  
“Went off after Haz, yeah. Thinks he can save him alone or something. Doesn’t want to worry us.” Niall aims a kick at the sofa leg. “He’s worrying us more by leavin’ like this, though.”  
  
“And there’s no telling what kind of shit he’ll get into,” Louis says, clenching and unclenching his fists; Liam prepares to prevent another attempted wall-punching, but Louis contains himself. “You know Zayn—quick temper, reckless as fuck, and so fuckin’ used to getting hurt that he doesn’t give a shit about putting himself in danger. Probably’ll get himself killed.”  
  
Liam swallows. Sometimes he doesn’t feel like he really knows Zayn, but he knows enough to realize that underneath Zayn’s calm, levelheaded sanity and warm eyes, what Louis said is true. He draws in a deep breath. “Try calling him.”  
  
“Already did.” Louis hurls his phone on the sofa. “Didn’t pick up. That prick.”  
  
“Do we go after him, then?”  
  
Niall and Louis exchange a look.  
  
“Give him half an hour. If he’s okay, he’ll be back by then. If he’s not—we’ll go and look for him and Haz.”  
  
Half an hour seems like an eternity, though, and anything can happen in thirty minutes. Zayn and Harry might already be lying dead in the street somewhere. He thinks of the gunmen in the house and shivers.  
  
“Okay.”

  


It’s been twenty two minutes. Liam knows because he’s set a timer. Twenty two minutes and thirty four seconds. Thirty five seconds. Thirty six seconds. Thirty-- _take a breath. They’re going to be okay._ He hates feeling helpless. _I should be out there looking for them._ He hates this itchy restless anxiety. _I should have gone after Harry, not Zayn. Oh, God, not Zayn._  
  
He takes a deep breath. Takes another.  
  
_Why aren’t I out there looking? I shouldn’t be sitting in here waiting for my friends die. I shouldn’t_.  
  
There’s a knock at the door. Louis races to open it and Niall and Liam exchange tense looks.  
  
Louis lets out a muffled shriek.  
  
“You bloody fucking prick, Malik, fuck you—shit, is he okay? What the fuck happened? _Is he okay_? What happened? _Where were you_?”  
  
“Lou—just—help me get him inside, yeah,” Zayn’s voice says, and Liam and Niall both leap to their feet. Liam’s never been so glad to hear someone in his life. “Take his arm—yeah, thanks, mate.” His voice is rough and worn out; Liam feels a twinge of worry.  
  
When he rounds the corner to come help, his heart freezes. Harry’s slumping on Louis’ arm, Zayn supporting his other side; his curly hair has a streak of blood in it, and his face looks swollen.  
  
“Here—gimme.” Niall shoves past him and scoops up Harry like he’s a baby. “Sofa?”  
  
“Yeah,” Louis breathes, looking at Harry with a devastated expression. “How he’d get so fucked up?”  
  
“Give me a minute and I’ll spit it out,” Zayn says, and Liam turns to look at him—and shit, he’s bloodied up too, with a split lip and a bruised cheekbone, his knuckles scuffed and bloody and his eye sporting the beginning of a real shiner. Liam tries to push _are you okay_ out of his mouth, but it feels like all the air has been punched out of him.  
  
“Li.”  
  
He clears his throat. “What?”  
  
Zayn slides down the wall to sit on the floor and gestures at him wearily while Niall and Louis take Harry to the living room. “Don’t stare, yeah?”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Just give me a minute.”  
  
“I—okay?”  
  
Zayn nods and takes a deep breath, staring the floor between his knees for a few minutes before stretching out his arm. “Give me a hand up?”  
  
“Yeah.” He grabs Zayn’s bloodied fingers and pulls him to his feet. “What happened?”  
  
“Let’s go check on Haz and I’ll tell all of you at once.”  
  
Liam resists the urge to put his arm around Zayn’s shoulders, because even though he looks so tiny and tired, and like he’s trying to be strong so hard that he’s cracking, Liam somehow doesn’t think that Zayn really wants to be touched right now.  
  
They walk into the living room, where Niall’s handing Louis ice while the older boy hovers around Harry’s head, cleaning him up and pressing ice everywhere.  
  
“How is he?” Zayn asks.  
  
Louis looks up and gives him a freezing glare. “I can’t even _look_ at you right now,” he hisses. “You selfish—I—prick—don’t talk to me.”  
  
“I—what?”  
  
Louis looks away from him, addressing the space halfway between Liam and Niall.“This fucking asshole went off by himself without telling any of us, without letting us know where he went—we thought we he might be dead—killed—I thought I’d lost you both in one fucking night, and you’re fucking _fine_. Don’t even fucking look at me, Malik.”  
  
“Can I at least tell you what happened?” Zayn asks heavily, dropping onto the arm of the sofa.  
  
Louis sniffs and looks away. “Fine.”  
  
“So I tracked him to this warehouse thing; it was locked, so I broke in, and when I got inside, he was tied to a chair and there were these two blokes in there, hittin’ him . . .”  
  
Louis blinks hard and grabs Harry’s hand.  
  
“An’ they were massive, right, and he’s tied down, can’t do anything—they looked like they might’ve been asking him questions or something—I didn’t hang around to watch, course, but you should ask him about it when he wakes up—but I jump right in, manage to shut down one of ‘em pretty quick, right, but the other one starts hittin’ me before I get the chance to pull any shit on him.”  
  
Liam has a sudden mental image of skinny, slight Zayn trying to defend gangly, tied down Harry from two huge, shadowy figures, and the thought makes his throat tighten up. _I should’ve been there_.  
  
“But I take him down eventually, untie Harry—he’s out like a light by that time, yeah, so I sort of half carry, half drag him here—we got stopped by a cop, but I just said he was drunk before he could ask too many questions. And now he’s here. He’ll be okay.”  
  
Liam wants to ask how exactly Zayn “tracked” Harry, but there are more important questions, like _when will he wake up_ , and _how bad is he hurt_ , and _are you okay_.  
“The real question is,” Niall says slowly, “is why they wanted to take him in the first place.”  
  
Zayn nods tiredly but doesn’t say anything; Louis looks like he barely heard.  
  
“Also,” Niall says, “y’shouldn’t have done that, Zayn. That was a pretty shitty thing t’do.”  
  
“What, saving Harry’s life?” Zayn sounds too weary to be angry; instead there’s just a sort of awful sarcasm in his voice. “Sorry, mate, next time I won’t bother.”  
  
“No, there’s won’t be a bloody _next time_ , you cunt, because _next time_ we’ll all fucking go. Y’can’t just keep doin’ this, Zayn. It’s gonna get you killed.”  
  
Zayn mutters something vaguely rebellious under his breath that Liam doesn’t catch, but Niall apparently does, because his usually sunny face darkens. “I don’t fuckin’ care if you care whether or not you get yourself offed, Malik, d’you hear? Cause we all care whether you die or not—you’re not a solo op, mate, in case you haven’t noticed. We’re a goddamn _team_ here, and I don’t want you fucking shit up just cause y’have a hero complex and a fuckin’ death wish. _Next time you tell us_.” He turns away suddenly, like he can’t look at Zayn anymore, and Liam swears he hears a sniffle. Zayn stares straight ahead, jaw set. Blood is starting to drip from his knuckles, and Liam reaches forward to grab one of his hands. Zayn flinches and snatches his fingers away.  
  
“Sorry—just,” Liam whispers, “your hands.”  
  
Zayn looks down blankly for a minute. “Yeah, right, shit—the carpet.” He folds his hands into each other and stands up, and Liam internally screams, _I didn’t mean the fucking carpet, you idiot, why can’t you let someone worry about you for once?_ “I’ll be right back.”  
  
The silence hangs thick and heavy in the air; Liam feels like something is splintering agonizingly slowly while he can do nothing but stand there and watch. He’s not nervous anymore, at least; there’s just an icy weight of worry in his stomach now. His mind is racing, and Niall’s shoulders are shaking, and Louis looks furious and shaky, and Liam can’t even look at Harry’s slack, bloody face, and—  
  
“Y’need to stop thinking, babe.”  
  
Liam looks up; Zayn’s settling himself back down on the sofa arm, his knuckles now neatly wrapped in gauze. His half-smile falters a little when Liam doesn’t respond.  
  
“Just saying,” he whispers, bowing his head.  
  
Liam feels too sick to say anything reassuring; everything, for some reason, feels like a bad dream. “I don’t feel well,” he says after a minute. “I’m going to bed, yeah? Wake me up when Harry’s up.”  
  
Louis nods without looking up from Harry.  
  
Liam shuts his door, and wills himself to sleep. Nothing feels right.

  


Zayn wakes up terrified. Which is something that happens a lot less often than it used to, honestly. Six years of separation have a tendency to make nightmares recede somewhat, and even on the days when they have missions, the bruising fists he takes in the line of fire barely have the ability to make him scream at night anymore. Barely.  
  
But last night’s beating, and the boys’ anger on top of that had brought back a flood of nightmares of _you’re not good enough_ and _disgusting_ and _never should have kept you_ and _worthless piece of shit_ and now his hands are shaking and his breath is coming too quick. It’s not a good feeling, especially when he can hear the boys moving around and talking in the kitchen. If they’re up, he’ll have to face them when he gets up to go to the bathroom, and any of them would be able to sense his upset in a minute.  
He debates the pro of staying in bed versus the cons—plenty of the former, while the latter’s looking more unappealing by the minute—but what really settles the argument is Harry. He needs to make sure he’s okay—God, Harry wouldn’t even be so fucked up if Zayn had come earlier, or found him faster, or fought harder. Or if he’d noticed that he’d been missing in the car, or—but Zayn cuts himself off there with _he would have gotten hurt no matter what, you’ll never be good enough_. But the matter still stands, and he’s going to have to check up on the younger boy.  
  
Swinging his feet out of bed, he stretches, checks the time—wincing when he realizes it’s far later than he’d thought—and pushes open his bedroom door.  
  
“Zayn!” The other four boys are clustered around the coffee table in the living room, all holding mugs of tea and wrapped in blankets and what appears to be a lively discussion. For a moment he can’t breathe for guilt when he sees Harry’s bruised face, or the other boys’ cheery expression when last night they’d all been so angry and hurt that he’d left.  
  
“Come join us, mate; we’re gonna start FIFA in a minute.”  
  
“I—” He doesn’t want FIFA and forgiveness, he wants them to yell at him until their throats are hoarse and then not speak to him for days, because he’s still feeling the guilt from last night, and he already knows it’s gonna be a fucked up day, and there’s no point in ignoring his more self-destructive urges. “Yeah—just—bathroom first.”  
  
They nod, and he ducks into the bathroom to take a piss and hyperventilate until the nightmare images have faded a little and he can look his reflection in the eyes without wanting to punch it. Although quite honestly, his face doesn’t look like it really needs any more punching; he brushes his fingers over his swollen lip and cheek before prodding at his black eye; judging from the throbbing, he really should’ve put ice on it last night. At least his knuckles have been bound up; that’s one good thing. Well, he’s taken far worse—the worst this will be is uncomfortable for a few days.  
  
He steps back outside, hovering awkwardly by the bathroom door before walking back into the living room. “I—hey.”  
  
“No need to fuckin’ announce your presence, mate, just get over here and pick a team.”  
  
Niall and Louis are about to play against each other in FIFA; Harry has chosen to support Louis (shocking), and Liam seems to be on Niall’s side.  
  
“C’mon, mate, hurry up.”  
  
Zayn tries to inhale once last time, chokes, and then walks over to sit next to Liam.  
  
“Fuck you,” Louis mutters. “At least I've got Harry. You on, Horan?”  
  
Niall grins devilishly. “Even if you _shock_ me by winning.”  
There’s a long silence, during which only Harry chuckles, because it’s been so long that puns on their various powers are really no longer funny to anyone but him. Then they’re off, and Harry is cheering Louis on wildly, and Niall is struggling not to crush his controls, and Zayn is trying so hard to choke back the thousand and one awkward apologies crushing him while Liam just sits beside him quietly.  
  
“You look proper messed up,” he says finally under the cover of a string of Louis’ favorite curse words.  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn gets out. “Guess so.”  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
_No, I’m not, never have been, actually; I’ve been falling my whole life and I’m just waiting to hit the bottom_. “Yeah. I’ve had worse.”  
  
“Guess it’s a dangerous business.”  
  
Zayn nods. Then: “Are you mad at me?”  
  
He wants to clap the words back in his mouth the moment they come out, because _of course_ Liam’s mad at him, they all are, because he did something reckless and stupid last night, and he didn’t even do it right, didn’t even get Harry out unscathed.  
  
“Noo,” Liam says after a minute. “I—I just—I wish you would care about yourself a little more. And I’m a little hurt that you didn’t tell us or bring us along or anything. But—I mean, we’ve all just about forgiven you, babe. You meant well, yeah? And, I mean, it was stupid and probably suicidal and kinda inconsiderate, but you got him out alive, by yourself, and no one could ask for more, Z. I just wish you would—let us in sometimes.”  
  
Something in Zayn’s chest softens a little, and he nods in the general direction of the floor, still too ashamed to look anyone in the eyes.  
  
“Hey—it’s okay.” Liam knocks him lightly on the side of the head (and Zayn tries to not to flinch, he really does). “I think Lou and Niall’ve forgiven you.”  
  
“But Harry—he’s, I mean,” Zayn mutters. “I—if I’d been faster, or if I’d tried to—been stronger, or something, I dunno, I could’ve been better—”  
  
“Zayn.” Harry sounds far clearer than he should be over the cacophony of FIFA, and then Zayn realizes that the match is over, and the room’s fallen quiet. “Zayn, mate—you got me out of there, okay? I dunno if anyone else could’ve done that. And it was a pretty shitty move not to tell the boys but—mate, you saved my life, all right? You can’t ignore that.”  
  
Niall jumps in with, “Zayn, lad, I know I was angry at ya last night, but it was a goddamn good thing you did—I mean, it was a fuckin’ shitty thing to do, too, but you saved Haz, and like he said, yeah, no one else here could have done that. You did the right thing, even if y’didn’t do it in the right way, yeah? We’re not gonna fuckin’ kick you out on the streets just cause you didn’t check in with us, all right?”  
  
“Yeah, I know, I just—I,” and Zayn feels somehow both comforted and miserable, “I just feel like I fucked up—I dunno—I—we shouldn’t be talkin’ about me, yeah, Harry’s the one who’s hurt.”  
  
Liam’s hand soothes down his back, and Zayn allows himself to lean into the touch as the two boys turn their attention away from him a little too understandingly. Louis’ the only one who’s still looking at him.  
  
“Zayn,” he says quietly after a minute. “You had a nightmare last night, yeah?”  
  
“I—Louis, fuck, I—yeah.”  
  
“You okay?”  
  
Harry and Niall have gone very still, trying to casually listen in, and even Liam, who doesn’t even really know what Zayn’s dreams entail, is still rubbing comforting circles into his back.  
  
“I’m fucking fine, Lou. They’re fucking dreams, they can’t,” and he inhales properly for the first time that day, “they can’t hurt me. Harry’s the one we should be worried about.”  
  
“I’m fine too,” Harry says flippantly, and Zayn feels a surge of frustration at their refusal to let him take the blame, even though they’d been pinning it on him last night, even though he deserves it.  
  
“Fine. Did y’figure out what those blokes were after, then?”  
  
“We haven’t talked about it yet,” Liam says steadily. “We were waiting for you to get up.”  
  
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”  
  
“Because you fucking needed to sleep, you wanker, we all did,” Louis snaps. “Yesterday was a piece of shit, and you ‘n Harry were hurt, and we were all pissed off and exhausted, and since we’re all safe now, we weren’t gonna wake you up to talk.” He mutters something under his breath that sounds a good deal like _God, you’re like a fucking child sometimes, Zayn_.  
  
Zayn ignores him. “Are we gonna talk about it now?”  
  
“We’re gonna eat lunch, and we’re gonna play FIFA,” Niall says. “We already called Simon, and he's researching it, so when he gets back to us, we’ll have a chat, yeah, and decide what t’do. No use stressin' about it til then.”  
  
That’s possibly the stupidest idea Zayn has ever heard, but somehow, he wants nothing more than to put this all out of his head, and stop his mind from eating him up.

  


They end up eating ramen and observing endless death matches of various video games between Niall and Harry, and Liam watches Zayn flinch when the boys touch him and curl into himself every time he looks at Harry. Nobody says anything—though Liam notices the other three casting Zayn careful looks every now and then, although Louis, as he always is, is far more preoccupied with Harry and his injuries—and so Liam doesn’t either. He just wishes that Zayn would let himself hurt sometimes. _And God knows why he blames himself for what happened last night_.  
  
Because yeah, Liam’s still pissed about Zayn leaving, and he still can feel the icy weight of worry that had settled in his stomach when he’d seen that Zayn was missing, but in the end, he knows that none of the boys are truly angry at Zayn for what he’d done. They’d just lashed out in sincere worry and confusion and hurt, but knowing Zayn and his warped sense of self-worth, he now thought they all hated him, and that it was his fault. Liam’s not quite sure what to feel anymore.  
  
The boys get through thirty minutes of _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ , seven rounds of FIFA, two bowls of ramen, and one instance where Liam can’t tell if Louis is whispering in Harry’s ear or making out with his neck (he prefers not to know), before Simon calls back.  
  
“I haven’t got any leads,” he says, sounding more vaguely frustrated than worried. “But I’m sure something will turn up. Zayn, you wiped the Walsons’ entirely?”  
  
“Clean as a slate,” Zayn says, hands fiddling his pocket for a cig; Harry slaps his hand and hisses, “ _Not in the house, you animal_.”  
  
“All right . . . I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m thinking some sort of criminal coalition.”  
  
Liam winces. “Like a gang or something?” The boys had taken out a gang over the summer; it’d been Liam’s tenth mission, and the memories weren’t good. Five versus twenty five is never a good combination. Even when it’s four superheroes and a soldier.  
  
“Possibly.” Simon’s voice is thoughtful. “This reminds me of a mission I did when I was much younger—back when I was still running around with Cheryl and Louis—”  
  
The boys all exchange exasperated looks.  
  
“—it was a cult type of situation, I believe—quite unusual, really. The leader was a man with exceptional abilities.”  
  
“Abilities like ours?”  
  
“Yes; like I said, quite unusual.”  
  
“Do you think that’s what’s going on here, then?” Harry sounds apprehensive. “Those two blokes that kidnapped me didn’t seem like they were anything other than your standard bonehead.”  
  
“Most likely not. I was just reminiscing.” There’s a slight pause and then Simon says, “Well, I’ll call you again when I get a lead. Try and do some research and brainstorm among yourselves, and keep me updated, will you? Oh, and Zayn—don’t run off by yourself again. We’re all quite fond of you, believe it or not,” he says drily, “and we’d be rather upset if you got yourself killed, all right?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Zayn says tonelessly.  
  
Liam can practically hear Simon’s eyeroll. “Boys, make sure he doesn’t do it again—”  
  
“I don’t need a babysitter—”  
  
“—and make sure he and Harry put ice on and sleep well.”  
  
“We will,” Liam and Louis say in unison, and Simon laughs.  
  
“All right. Hopefully I’ll hear from you soon.”  
  
They hang up, and Louis sighs and stretches, reaching out to rake his hands through Harry’s hair. “Haz, you wanna fill us in on what happened after you disappeared last night?”  
  
Harry nods slowly. “Yeah, sure.”  
  
Louis’ fingers tangle in his curls. “All right, lads, story time.”  
  
Liam can see that he’s still much more worried about Harry than he’ll let on, can see it in the tender fondness on his face, in the fingers that mess up Harry’s hair and tug at his cheeks to smile.  
  
“All right. So, we were waiting outside, me ‘n Lou, and while I'm watching you guys take out the Walsons, I notice that things are looking pretty bad, and that even though you guys don’t notice, there are some blokes with guns inside the house. So I want to go in and warn you, but then I notice that Zayn’s missing. Like, I can’t find him at all in the house. So that gets me pretty worried, right, because where the hell is he if he’s not in the house, right? And around that time, we start hearing gunshots, so I’m freaking the fuck out, but then Zayn shows up around the corner of the house, and he comes over to join us, and it turns out he’d jumped from the fuckin’ window when he heard the gunshots, like, you know, a badass, and he wanted to go back in with Lou and get you guys out—but it looked like you had it under control, and then I around the corner to get a better look at the shooter; see if I could ID them or anything, you know. But when I’m just out of sight of Zayn and Lou, I get jumped by these two guys—” He shudders slightly, and Louis tugs on his hair gently, like reassurance. “It was quite the classic kidnapping, y’know—one of them hit me on the back of the head, and the other one put a bag on my head, and they stuff me in a truck, and next thing you know I’m tied to a metal chair in a warehouse like I’m in a James fucking Bond movie.” Here Harry tucks himself into Louis’ side a little; Louis looks like he wants to murder the two men who’d taken Harry. “And, you know, they started asking me questions and stuff, like who were the blokes in the house trying to start shit with the Walsons, who was I, why were we trying to stop them, what my name was, stuff like that. And—and hitting me when I didn’t reply. And then—Zayn showed up. And fought them off. Like a badass. A skinny, angsty, nerdy badass.”  
  
They all think that over for a minute before Niall says, “All right, Haz, listen—no bad on you if you did, but like—did you answer any of their questions?”  
  
Louis draws Harry closer and looks indignant. “Of course he fucking didn’t, you idiot, who do you think he is? Bloody Payne?”  
  
That’s hurts a little, but Liam just says mildly, “Actually, I’ve had military-level training in how to resist interrogation techniques. So. Like. Just saying.”  
  
Louis blinks. “I sometimes forget you were a soldier. You’re so bloody nice.” Then he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean you’d rat us out, Payno, I just meant you’re so fucking polite that you’d probably answer them just to make them happy.”  
  
Zayn snorts. Liam taps his knuckles against his arm in complaint, and Zayn, he notes with pride, barely flinches.  
  
“Actually,” Harry says in a small voice, “I answered one of their questions. I—I told them my name.”  
  
Everyone freezes. Liam feels his heart drop from his chest. _They know his name_.  
  
“I just—it’s instinct when someone asks you, you know? I just blurted it out—they can’t do anything bad with my name, right? It can’t be that bad?”  
  
“I dunno,” Niall says slowly. “I mean, we don’t even know who they are, much less what they can do. Did you tell Simon?”  
  
Harry squeezes his swollen eyes shut and shakes his head.  
  
Niall stands. “I’ll go call him for ya.” He ruffles Harry’s hair. “Don’t worry, Haz, it’ll be okay.”  
  
Liam would really love to believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a thing. Half of me really loves this chapter, and the other half never wants to let it see the light of day. Hope you guys like it, anyway.  
> Thank you for reading and commenting and kudo-ing (leaving kudos??). You guys are the most wonderful humans on the face of the planet. Feel free to keep showing the love; every comment and kudo makes me squeal.  
> Also: I wouldn't expect another chapter until next weekend. I have a super super stressful, busy week coming up (school is dumping everything on me in one week, and I'm getting sick, and my sister is in the hospital--you get the idea), and in addition i haven't even started writing Chapter 4...yikes...so don't hate me if I don't post again til the weekend! If I update during the week, just know I was procrastinating terribly, and yell at me for shirking in the comments, please.  
> That's all! Thanks for reading:)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyyy so I know I took literally forever to upload this...to be fair, I was living through personal hell these past two weeks (and we all know what happened with 1D; I was traumatized, okay?). And I struggled with the decision to even upload this chapter (more on that at the end of the chapter since I don't wanna make this too long). But now I'm on spring break, and I have the next chapter all planned out, so if anyone's still reading this, expect another chapter soon.  
> I think this is the longest chapter yet, and it's one of the parts I had planned out when I started writing this fic, so I hope you all like it. It may get a lil confusing towards the end, but I promise everything is explained next chapter. And in the grand tradition of fic writers, this is edited only minimally, so like...forgive my mistakes.  
> I would keep an eye on the tags, just in case. Don't think there's anything bad in here, but still. All usual disclaimers apply. Enjoy.

Zayn feels like he hasn’t had a proper smoke in about a million years. It’s probably only been about an hour, maybe two—and he doesn’t usually feel this fucking addicted, honestly—but the stress and upset and exhaustion of the past week have been too much. He needs a cigarette, and he needs it now.  
  
“You need a break?”  
  
“Quite possibly.” He tries to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.  
  
“Smoke break?”  
  
“Sounds fantastic right now, Haz.”  
  
“I need you to look over one more file. How much longer do you think you can stay?”  
  
Zayn grits his teeth— _if you had saved him sooner, we wouldn’t be in this mess_ —and scrubs at his eyes. “If you sweet talk me, maybe, like, fifteen more seconds.”  
Harry sighs. “All right. I’ll call in Niall or something.”  
  
Zayn pats the other boy’s head in thanks, and starts towards the door. “Don’t work yourself too hard, mate, okay?”  
  
Harry shakes his head. “I need to get the bottom of this—if I hadn’t—”  
  
“Don’t blame yourself, Harry.”  
  
“Says who?” Harry mutters, and turns back to the screen. Zayn catches the tail end of an _you’re literally the king of blaming yourself for shit that’s not your fault, Zayn, I don’t even wanna hear you lecture me on this_. He rolls his eyes and grabs his lighter from the desk where he’d been playing with it a few hours of boredom and research earlier and heads outside, flicking it on and off repeatedly while digging in his jeans pocket for his pack. Great—only three left, and then he’ll either suffocate for a few more hours until his shift ends, see if Louis has any and swipe some off of him, or talk one of the boys into going out and buying him more. None of the options look appealing.  
  
(And it’s fucking terrible, honestly, that the only way he can breathe anymore is through the filter of a cigarette; it’s like the inhaler Harry uses when he gets one of his rare asthma attacks, only better because it’s killing him. _So sweet with a mean streak, nearly brought me to my knees_.)  
  
Zayn swears it’s the stress that they’ve all been living under for the past week. Ever since Simon found out about Harry’s slip, he’s put them into lockdown mode, refusing to let them take any other missions under they’ve found out who the men who kidnapped Harry were affiliated with. And Zayn, as the person who took them down and put them out (and got access to a few scattered thoughts before doing so) has been center stage, barely outside Harry’s spotlight as the Main Person of Interest. And he hates it.  
  
It’s not that he doesn’t want to help, or feels that it isn’t important, but he hates being the center of attention and hates that he isn’t able to help as much as he’d like to, and every day things get more tense between him and Liam, because he’s selfish, because he knows that Liam should know about his powers, wants to know about his powers, deserves to know about his powers, but he just—  
  
He can’t bring himself to lose Liam like that. Not yet. He hadn’t been ready the day he’d met Liam, with his liquid honey brown eyes and beautiful, confused innocence and enthusiasm at the idea of being a superhero, like he thought having powers would help him change the world, like he wasn’t doing that already. And Zayn’s still not ready now, when his powers are more important and destructive than ever, and Liam should know for his own good, for his own safety, so he can run when he needs to without having to ask why.  
  
He smokes his way through two of his last cigs before he sees Liam coming in, laden down with a one bad of gym clothes and two of groceries. He smiles when he sees Zayn, even though Zayn is hardly a sight to behold, hunched over the glowing ember of his second-to-last cigarette and gasping for air around his guilt.  
  
“How’re you guys holding up?”  
  
“Good enough. M’just takin’ a smoke break and then I’ll be back on shift. We haven’t found anything on them yet . . .”  
  
Liam jerks up one shoulder in a noncommittal half-shrug. “We will eventually. I bought food n’ stuff. I know Niall was complaining that we didn’t have any more bread the other day.” He sighs and shifts his weight under the bags. “Harry doing okay?”  
  
Zayn nods slowly. “I guess. He was okay when I left.”  
  
“Right. Well, I should probably go check on him anyway.”  
  
Zayn manages half a crooked, teasing grin. “What, don’t trust me?”  
  
“I—” Liam laughs in a helpless sort of way and takes a step towards the entrance of the flat building. “I should go. See you upstairs, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” Zayn watches him go and uses the ember in his hand to light up his last cigarette. 

  


Liam’s always preferred juice or tea in the mornings; he truly dislikes the fake high coffee gives him unless he’s working late at night or has to wake up particularly early. It’s why he doesn’t know how to make a really great cup of coffee—it always turns out too weak or too strong—which Louis always gives him shit about (for someone who drinks tea almost exclusively, Louis gives everyone a lot of shit about being coffee plebs). But he tries to make the boys coffee when he’s the first one up anyway; lots of sugar for Niall, milk for Louis, none for Harry unless they’re at Starbucks, in which case he wants all the whipped cream and sugary drinks, and black for Zayn, who’s the only real coffee addict and (as Louis says) takes it as black as his soul.  
  
This morning is no different. Liam makes the coffee, goes for a run, comes back to find it’s too strong, drinks a glass of juice, and sits down to watch the morning news. (And yes, he’s practical like that; he figures it might give them clues about any current or future missions they have.)  
  
“Oi, Payno, you up?” It’s Louis, stumbling out of his bedroom with bleary eyes and messy hair, raking his fingers through his wrecked fringe in an attempt to put it back into a quiff. “Not watching the news again, are you?”  
  
“Yeah, I am,” Liam says, without specifying which one he means. “There’s coffee; it should still be warm if y’want it.”  
  
Louis groans appreciatively and pours himself a cup. “And you got out the milk. You’re the fuckin’ best, Payno.”  
  
“Don’t I know it,” Liam grumbles. “Are the rest of the boys up, then?”  
  
“Harry’s not. He was up too late last night, yeah, he’ll probably be sleeping all day if no one wakes him up. Dunno bout the rest of ‘em. Niall’s probably gonna be up soon.”  
  
“All right.”  
  
There’s silence for a moment as Liam stares at the blank TV screen and Louis drinks his coffee. There are too many thoughts swirling around Liam’s head; all he wants to do is go for another run, maybe call his mum afterward, maybe just go back to sleep.  
  
“How late was Zayn up?”  
  
Louis gives him a very particular look (Liam can’t quite tell what it’s trying to say) over the rim of his mug. “Dunno. Knowing Zayn, it was probably four o’clock and now he’ll sleep til two.”  
  
Liam absent-mindedly traces the arrows on his arm. “Yeah . . .”  
  
“Liam—”  
  
But then Niall stumbles into the room, all hooded eyes and lazy smiles and grabby hands as he pours himself a mug and curls into the space next to Liam. “Haz reckons he found somethin’ last night,” he says, voice rough and more heavily accented with exhaustion. “Just some police report about the Walsons bein’ involved with some underground drug trade. Might give us a connection or something.”  
  
_Thank God, maybe we can settle this once and for all_. “Should we get working right now, then?”  
  
“Nah, Zayn’s on it right now in the office.”  
  
Louis groans again, gulping the last of his coffee and rolling his eyes. “I’ll go fucking tell him to lay off then and I’ll take over. He didn’t fuckin’ sleep last night, did he?”  
  
Niall shrugs, grabbing the TV remote and starting to channel surf, settling on an annoying, cheap cartoon that has Liam scrabbling to turn down the volume. “Dunno, mate. Y’can ask Harry, he’s just up now. I don’t think ‘e did. Y’know how he gets when we’re all stressed out.” He scowls and switches the channel. “I talked to him t’other day—says he don’t wanna sleep. He—you know how he gets.”  
  
Louis sighs, but Liam just feels a twinge of annoyance. Everyone always tiptoes around Zayn’s issues, and it’s getting to him. Because he knows that when things get bad, Zayn gets into this sort of numb state where he drinks too much (sometimes coffee, sometimes alcohol) and can’t sleep (or doesn’t want to) and shakes and flinches and smokes—but he doesn’t know why, or what’s triggering it, or whether he just sometimes can’t take the stress.  
  
“All right. I’ll take over, and send him in here; try and get him to drink some coffee, or better yet, go to bed.”  
  
When Louis leaves, Liam turns to Niall. “What is up with him?”  
  
Niall lets out a lazy laugh at a rerun of _The Hangover_ before skipping over it. “Lou? He’s just worried bout Zayn, I—”  
  
“No, what’s up with Zayn?”  
  
Niall raises an eyebrow and says nothing.  
  
“Niall. Why is Louis worried about Zayn?”  
  
There’s no response.  
  
“ _Niall_.”  
  
“Look—Liam. You’re one of me best mates, I swear, and I would take a bullet for ya, but there’s some things I just can’t tell you cause it’s not my place. Zayn’s problems are Zayn’s business, and I don’t get messed up with other people’s business, all right. I love the pair o’ ya, but you two really need to sort out y’shit.”  
  
“There’s nothing to sort out,” Liam says tightly. “I just want to know why he doesn’t trust me.”  
  
Niall’s silent another moment before replying. “It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, Payno. It’s that he doesn’t trust himself.”  
  
Before Liam can come up with a reply (or even just a complaint at how utterly cheesy that sounds), Zayn himself walks in, and Liam manages to forget all his annoyance. He looks almost more tired than Liam’s ever seen him—like he hasn’t slept in days, and Liam doesn’t remember him looking this bad when he’d seen him smoking outside last night. But because it’s Zayn, he looks almost better than when he’s alert, his messy hair and exhausted eyes just making him look like model woken up too early for a shoot.  
  
“Coffee?” His voice, like Niall’s, is deep and scratchy, only from exhaustion rather than sleep.  
  
“Nope, you’ll be gettin’ your sorry ass to bed now,” Niall says without looking up from the TV. “Li, make sure he doesn’t drink anything. Get his ass into his bedroom.”  
  
Liam rolls his eyes and gets up to grab Zayn’s hand an inch off of the coffee pot. “C’mon, mate, just do what he says.”  
  
Zayn buries his face in Liam’s chest and sighs deeply. “ _Leeyum_ , I’m tired.”  
  
“Then go the fuck to sleep.”  
  
“If I go to sleep—” A huge yawn “—I don’t think I’ll ever wake up.”  
  
“I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours.” Liam’s had to do this with all the boys enough times to know all the correct responses. They’ve done it with him, too; it’s a thing they all do, pushing themselves too hard. Liam just doesn’t think Zayn’s ever known when to stop.  
  
“If I go to sleep,” Zayn says, looking utterly childish with his wide eyes, “I’ll have bad dreams.”  
  
Liam doesn’t know this line, and for a moment he just stands there, trying to come up with a reply before realizing that Zayn is at the state of exhaustion where people act like they’re a little drunk. Then Niall stands up, walks over to where they’re standing, and slings Zayn over his shoulder unceremoniously.  
  
“Right, that’s it, you self-sacrificing bastard. Get in there.”  
  
He walks into Zayn’s room and dumps him on the bed. Zayn mumbles a protest, but doesn’t get up.  
  
“Get some sleep, Malik, you’re no use right now.”  
  
Liam’s not sure, but he thinks he hears a tired _am I ever, though?_ before Niall makes a show of dusting off his hands and shutting the door. 

  


Zayn’s not exactly sure what Liam’s trying to do, really, but he knows he’s trying to find out about Zayn’s past. And Zayn—well, Zayn’s not entirely cool with that, seeing as his past isn’t a very nice place to go digging. Even though it’s high time he told Liam everything.  
  
“Just do it, man,” Louis says in one of his many attempts to persuade Zayn to come clean. “You know you’ll feel better once y’do. It’s only fair, Zayn. He’s been living with us for what, a year now? And you haven’t even told him what you can do. That’s just really shitty, man.”  
  
“He’ll leave if he finds out,” Zayn says flatly. “You boys did. Why should Liam be any different, then?”  
  
“I didn’t leave,” Louis argues. “None of us did.”  
  
“Oh, right, sorry. Forgot how you threatening to electrocute me in my sleep was so much better than that. You were paranoid as fuck, and you hated my guts at first.”  
  
“Well, I got over it.”  
  
“And Harry couldn’t be in the same room with me, remember? Said he was scared n’ creeped out by me. Couldn’t even look me in the damn eyes. And he kept it up for a good two months.”  
  
“But it passed.”  
  
“And Niall moved out for three weeks. Said he wasn’t sure if he wanted to work with us if he had to be watching his back around me all the time.”  
  
“And he came back, Zayn. What makes you think Liam will be any different? And he already knows you. None of us knew you like he does when we did that shit.”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn says heavily. “You didn’t even know me. And you hated me. That’s somehow not very encouraging, Louis. At least then there was no trust to break.”  
  
“The only trust that’s being broken here is you not trusting him enough to tell him about your—everything. And if he leaves—so what? He wouldn’t have been a proper mate in the first place, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles, but he can’t help but think that being rejected by Liam would break him. Maybe it was because the boys’ rejections had been when they didn’t know him, and Liam leaving now would be shattering a year’s worth of friendship. Maybe it was because at seventeen and eighteen Zayn had been so used to cruelty and feeling worthless that the boys’ distrust and disgust didn’t mean much to him, and now, when he’s just beginning to realize that maybe— _maybe_ —he’s not quite the useless, worthless waste of space he’d been told he was, being rejected again would break what little self-confidence he had. Or maybe, it was just that Liam turning his back on him—perfect, kind, brave Liam, who still didn’t fit in with the broken down, uncaring world that Zayn knew, who treated Zayn like he was something precious and beautiful and worthwhile—would destroy too much of the part of his chest where Liam had burrowed in with his warm, crinkly eyed smiles and unrestrained laughs.  
  
Whatever the reason, the thought of Liam leaving makes Zayn feel sick.  
  
“I just can’t do it, man,” he says finally. “I can’t—he’ll hate me.”  
  
“When the fuck,” Louis says exasperatedly, “are you going to learn that hating you is not everyone’s default mode?”  
  
“It kind of is, though,” Zayn says, and then walks back into the office. He can’t take this right now.

  


Liam’s not trying to be nosy, really, but the more time passes, the more he gets restless with the notion that Zayn refuses to tell him anything about himself. And he’s not trying to obnoxious, either, even though it sometimes feels that way when he outright asks questions or pries just a little too deep. The frustration is always on top until Zayn looks at him straight, his eyes unspeakably tired and sad, and says something along the lines of a polite _it’s none of your fucking business_. Then Liam just feels guilty.  
  
But he does think that he has the boys on his side, or Louis at least, because he keeps seeing Louis pulling Zayn into the corner to chatter at him with wildly gesticulating hands that point to Liam more than once. And Zayn always comes away from these talks looking undecided and miserable, and Liam’s not even sure what to feel anymore.  
  
“It’s not gonna kill you,” Louis says the one time Liam catches a snippet of their conversations. “Zee, he loves you, man. I promise. It’ll be better if you just tell him.”  
  
“He’ll hate me,” Zayn says in a low voice, and Liam’s heart twists a little in pity and trepidation.  
  
“He won’t fuckin’ hate you, love,” and _only Louis could make that sentence sound encouraging_ , “And if he does, we’ll get Niall to fuck him up, yeah?”  
  
“I don’t want that, though. I—I just—I need a smoke.” Zayn drags out his pack from his pocket and starts towards the door. Louis darts after him and snags his sleeve.  
  
“Love—give me those—no more smoking for today, all right?” Louis holds out his hand imperiously. To Liam’s surprise, Zayn just hands them over defeatedly, and it’s the lack of Zayn’s usual sarcastic, biting protest more than anything else that has him worried for a moment.  
  
“Just think it over, all right, Zayn? Promise?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, promise,” Zayn mumbles.  
  
When Louis walks off, presumably to hide the pack, Zayn slides down the wall and buries his head in his arms. Liam hesitates, and then walks over to sit next to him.  
  
“Zayn, babe?” When Zayn doesn’t say anything, Liam gives his shoulder a small shake. “Babe, y’all right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn whispers after a moment. “Just—I’m so fuckin’ tired, Li. I—” He breaks off after that.  
  
There’s a million questions on the tip of Liam’s tongue, but today, instead of his conditioned _don’t ask questions, Payne_ , it’s just genuine concern for Zayn that stops him from voicing them. Whatever resentment he has towards Zayn for not being honest—well, it sort of pales in comparison to his worry.  
  
“You wanna get some sleep or something? It won’t kill you to take a couple hours off, babe.”  
  
“I c-can’t.” Zayn looks impossibly young under his too-long eyelashes and soft, ruffled hair. “Li—I have nightmares, I can’t, I—I can’t.” Liam can feel that Zayn’s having that panicky feeling that always plagues Liam when he gets too worried over nothing; he grabs the older boy’s hands to stop them from shaking, and Zayn buries his head in Liam’s shoulder. “They keep getting worse, Liam—just—please promise me you won’t hate me?”  
  
Liam blinks. “Zayn, I—what?”  
  
Zayn just shakes his head, draws in a deep breath, and then straightens up. “No—it was stupid. Never mind. I’ll just—go and—just forget it, okay?”  
  
And now Liam’s shut out again, Zayn’s panic and weakness hidden behind his drawn face and tired eyes again. The frustration comes rushing back, and Liam turns away abruptly.  
  
“Okay, mate. Never happened.” He stands up and turns on his heel. _No use in trying to fix someone who won’t even let you in._

  


Harry finds out that the Walsons had been involved with some kind of drug business on the side. Exactly how they’d been associated with the trade was unclear, though—Liam had been all for going and trying to force it out of them before the other boys exchanged uncomfortable glances and told him that after Zayn had dealt with them, that wouldn’t really be possible anymore. (And yes, that did make Liam’s stomach drop in horror and then twist in frustration because _what the fuck can Zayn do_ and _why the fuck won’t they tell me?_ ). So they had to go in and raid the hub of the drug branch itself to try and get answers. Namely, answers like why they were so interested in who the boys were. And what they would do with that information.  
  
Liam’s beyond worried. Not only will this be one of his biggest missions yet, but he’s jumpy after what happened last time, anxious about Zayn, and frightened at the thought of the boys being uncovered. None of the boys have ever really talked about the danger of being discovered, but Simon gave him a quick debriefing shortly after he’d joined them.  
  
“The boys are in a very— _particular position_. They’ve chosen to unite with my financial aid and other forms of assistance, but obviously they’re free to go any time they choose. But the way that they fight as a unit here, the way they use their powers for simple yet extraordinary acts of good for the public safety, and the anonymity that I can help them protect—that’s something that they most likely will never find elsewhere. If they were to be discovered, they would become bargaining chips on a global scale; weapons of mass destruction, if you will. And that’s just the best case scenario.”  
  
“What’s the worst?” Liam had asked.  
  
Simon had given him a flat stare. “Well, I imagine that there are countless scientists looking for extraordinary lab rats to torture and test. Or the boys could just be deemed as unsafe. In which case they would be killed.”  
  
Liam’s had nightmares featuring the boys tied down in labs or being held at gunpoint ever since.  
  
So it’s not entirely surprising that he’s worried. The other boys are too—he can tell from the way Niall wanders around the house singing and laughing nervously and bumping into things (and consequently breaking them); the way Louis gets louder and bitchier and more belligerent while shocking everything within his reach; the way Harry gets quieter and quieter as the mission approaches, jumping at every small noise until Louis pulls him roughly into his lap to run his fingers through his curls impatiently. And he can tell from the way Zayn spends nearly all his outside smoking and drinking coffee, refusing to sleep and barely talking to anyone and making sure that they’re all okay but brushing them off when they insist _you’re not_.  
  
And then the day comes, and Liam feels like he’ll go crazy.  
  
The building they have to raid is a shabby, run-down office building on the outskirts of a London slum. It’s supposedly a shady real estate business, but according to Zayn (and Liam has no idea how he knows this), everyone nearby knows exactly what they deal with. Namely, drugs.  
  
“Not real good stuff, either,” Zayn deadpans. “But it’s cheap, and they have a reputation for being violent, so there’s not much local competition.”  
  
“How many people should be have to expect to deal with?” Liam asks, overlooking the fact that Zayn has extensive knowledge about a small branch of London’s extensive drug trade.  
  
“Um . . . twenty, maybe? I don’t think there’s ever more than that in there at one place—too suspicious, y’know?”  
  
“Right,” Liam says tiredly. “I forgot how, you know, it’s suspicious. More than twenty people. That would be suspicious. Really weird. Honestly. So stra—”  
  
“Liam.” Harry’s quiet voice cuts across his rambling. “It’s okay. We can deal with twenty.”  
  
“Yeah, I know, I know.” He rubs his hand across his eyes. “Sorry.”  
  
“It’ll be fine,” Louis says. “We’ll be fucking fine if it’s the last thing we do. Which it won’t be. The last thing, I mean.”  
  
Niall huffs out a stressed sounding chuckle and shoves at Liam’s arm roughly. Liam winces. Zayn quickly reaches out and pulls him away from Niall, muttering, “careful, you prick” while Niall apologizes profusely. For a split second, Zayn’s fingers wrap around Liam’s wrist and squeeze gently, and that’s more comforting than everyone else combined.  
  
“Okay,” Liam breathes out, “let’s go.”

  


They exchange a few hurried fist bumps before going inside; Liam, Harry, and Niall taking the upper half of the building, and Zayn and Louis going into the basement (something Liam can tell they’re both nervous about).  
  
“Good luck everyone,” Liam says in a whisper through the earpiece Simon now makes them all wear—and _thank fuck for that, really, because it’ll insure that something like last time doesn’t happen again._  
  
(And yeah, maybe, just maybe Zayn’s returning whisper of _we’re gonna kill it, Leeyum_ , makes Liam feel just a little bit stronger, somewhere inside him.)  
  
There’s no one upstairs. Not a single soul. Just file cabinets and blank-screened, buzzing computers, and a heavy silence that lays ominously in the air and weighs down on Liam’s lungs. He doesn’t like to think it, but he feels like there’s a deep thrum of energy coming from the basement—he prays that it’s only Zayn and Louis doing a routine check, or something, and not a more sinister source.  
  
“Do you feel that?” Niall says in a hushed voice, and _okay, so they can’t ignore that anymore_.  
  
“It’s just Lou and Zayn doing their stuff,” Harry reassures him. “But it must mean they’re seeing some more interesting shit than we are.”  
  
“Should we go help them out?” Liam asks, trying to cover up the shaking in his voice.  
  
“Our best bet is to stay up here and finish up looking for clues. Hey,” and Harry jostles him slightly, “I know it’s hard, but they’ll be okay, y’know? They’ve got each other’s backs.”  
  
“Just hope Zayn isn’t gonna go into overdrive,” Niall mutters, “Could get dangerous for Lou if he loses it.”  
  
Harry just purses his lips and keeps scanning the abandoned desks. “Maybe we should start up a computer and try and search their databases. Or go through their files in the cabinet. Find out what they want, why they’re looking for us.”  
  
“Yeah.” There’s a thumping noise from the basement, and Liam flinches in sympathy with a strangled yell. “Let’s—let’s do that.”  
  
The three boys split up and start rummaging through the filing cabinets—which, to their utter shock, are just full of sheets of jibberish. Pages and pages and pages of random letters, all carefully filed in a system that none of them understand—and yeah, Liam’s getting really unnerved now. All he wants is to get out of here.  
  
“Try and get into a computer,” Niall says to Harry, who nods and starts one of. The sounds of a violent fight from downstairs are getting louder, but Liam can barely hear them over the thumping of his own heart in his ears.  
  
“Shit, where is Zayn when I need him?” Harry groans when the login screen pops up, requiring a username and a password. “He could probably hack this in no time.”  
  
“Can you at least try?” Liam says, not even bothering to conceal how nervous he is now, fingers shaking as he ruffles through another file of nonsense. This is some serious crazy-person shit here. Right out of _The Shining_.  
  
“Yeah, I’ll give it a go, but—shit, okay. Give me a couple minutes. Check in with the boys.”  
  
“Zayn and Louis,” Liam hisses into his earpiece. “Can you lads hear me? Y’doing all right? Try and come up here if you can; Harry needs a hand hacking the computers.”  
  
There’s a short, terrifying silence, and then Louis’s voice says, “We’ve got our—unh—hands full down— _fuck_ —here, Payno. Try and hold on for a bit, yeah? Got engaged in a bit of a—”  
  
And then he breaks off and all Liam can hear are the thumps and yells reverberating through the walls.  
  
“Are you okay? Louis, fuck it, answer me. Code 101, Louis, goddammit, code _fucking_ 101, _answer me_!”  
  
There’s a short, garbled laugh, and then Louis gasps, “Don’t understand your military bullshit, Payno. We’re okay. But—shit, okay—we gotta get out. Get the boys out. Zayn is about to bring this place to the fucking ground. I—ouch, _fuck_ you, you piece of fucking shit, get _off_ of me, fuck—yeah, okay. Get the boys out. _Now_ , Liam.”  
  
“But I—okay, yeah.” He turns to Harry and Niall and grabs them both by the sleeves. “Louis says to get the fuck out of here, boys, Zayn is about to bring this place to the ground, he says. Let’s go.”  
  
Harry protests only minimally before Niall picks him up and carries him out the door with Liam following, gun drawn. There’s the crackling sound of Louis’ lightning as they hurry downstairs; Liam can hear someone scream, and he prays it isn’t either of his boys.  
  
“What the fuck is going on down there?” Niall pants as they hurry towards the door.  
  
“Dunno; Louis made it sound bad.”  
  
Harry squeaks, and Liam can hear him whispering into the earpiece, _Lou, love, babe, are you all right? Lou, can you hear me? Get the fuck out of there, love, get back up here, okay? Okay, be quick_ ; Liam feels his heart ache a little as the terrible, terrible concern in his voice.  
  
They burst out of the door and hurry towards the car, Liam turning it on swiftly with shaking hands.  
  
“Hurry the fuck up!” Niall bellows into the earpiece, and they all jump a little at the sound.  
  
The tension in the air is almost visible; Liam feels like he can almost see the house shaking, and the waves of energy he felt before are resounding in his chest like the bassline at a rap concert. Whatever the boys are doing in there, it doesn’t look like the house will be able to stand the pressure much longer.  
  
“People have got to be noticing this,” Niall says nervously, the corner of his mouth jumping up and down. “Someone’ll call the cops; they’ve got to hurry.”  
  
And then Louis comes bursting out of the house, chest heaving and eyes wild. He tears towards the car and jumps in, slamming the door before leaning against it and closing his eyes. Harry makes a soft sound and reaches out for him, and Louis lets out a breath to relax into his side.  
  
“What happened?” Liam barks, twisting around in his seat to stare at him. “Where’s Zayn?”  
  
Louis just shakes his head. “I dunno what’s going on in there, I had to get out. Zayn got out of control and I just—I dunno what he’s doing, but he’s really gone, I—” he gulps in a deep breath and shakes his head, clutching at Harry’s arm like a lifeline. “He was trying to get whatever info he could out of them, but then he just kind—fuck—we got in a fight with a few, and then he just—fucking exploded. I didn’t know how to stop him. He’s—he’ll be fine, but if he kills anyone in there . . .” He just shakes his head. “I can’t fucking stop him, I’m sorry.”  
  
Liam looks at him for a long moment, the palpable energy in the air getting more noticeable by the minute, and then shoves open the door of the car and starts for the house.  
  
“Liam, mate, get the fuck back in here, you can’t deal with him when he’s like this, mate, you don’t know what he’s like, you bloody idiot—!”  
  
“I’m not fucking leaving him in there to kill people and die,” Liam shouts over his shoulder, and then ducks into the house.  
  
Down the stairs, around the corner, follow the noises of the shouting—Liam feels like this is a maze, or a test, or something from a video game. It all feels a little surreal—especially when he begins to feel like he can hear people in his head, not a coherent conversation or anything, but just whispering fragments of vague voices, things like _I love her_ , and _I don’t know anything_ , and _4435 Walnut Street_ , and _she killed him before she knew all the answers_. But even that is nothing compared to what he sees when he opens the basement door.  
  
Zayn is standing in the middle of the room, surrounding by a small crowd of people. They’re all rushing around and holding their heads and the voices in Liam’s head are stronger than ever, but Zayn’s just standing there like a statue, like the eye of the storm. The mental screaming gets louder and louder, and Zayn’s face twists in concentration, and suddenly Liam can hear Zayn’s voice too: _you fucking monster, you’re gonna kill them, shut it off, shut it off, shut it the fuck off_ —but then the other voices overpower him. Liam feels like his head is about to explode, and the scene is becoming more dreamlike by the minute—he realizes, with a shock, that Zayn is somehow controlling all these people. Even Liam can feel the effects of it; old memories are being brought to the forefront of his mind, and it feels like there’s someone probing through his mind, sifting through his thoughts until everything he knows about the boys is right there in front—  
  
Zayn turns around suddenly, and his eyes widen in horror when he sees Liam— _you’re gonna fucking kill him, you fucking monster, Liam, no, babe, get out of here, Liam, please get the fuck out of here before I hurt you_ —but Liam’s memories of the boys are still being brought to the front of his mind, and he feels like he couldn’t move if he tried. Zayn’s starting to shake visibly, like this is taking a toll on him—Zayn falls to his knees, and the screaming in Liam’s head is unbearably loud—there’s a trickle of blood crawling out of Zayn’s nose, and it feels like the whole house is about to collapse under the weight of his terrible power—and then—  
  
The memory of Zayn and Liam talking a few nights ago is dredged up under the force inside Liam’s head. Liam grabbing Zayn’s hands to keep them from trembling, Zayn’s whisper of _please promise you won’t hate me_ , the way they’d sat in silence together in the dark, stronger together than they were apart—and everything shuts off.  
  
There’s utter silence inside Liam’s head. Everyone else in the room is lying on the floor, barely moving, except for Zayn, who’s on his hands and knees in the middle of the room, still shaking. Liam manages to walk over and kneel down next to him, but Zayn shakes his head before Liam can touch him.  
  
“Liam, I—”  
  
“Babe,” Liam says, quietly and gently like he’s talking to a wild animal. “Babe, we gotta get out of here, yeah? The police’ll be here soon. Can you walk?”  
  
“Yeah.” His voice is rough and shaken up. “Yeah, I can walk.”  
  
“Can we just leave these people here? Are they gonna chase us, or do they need help, or what?”  
  
“If the police are coming they’ll be fine,” Zayn says, wiping the blood off his nose with the edge of his sleeve. “We should go.”  
  
They leave the room of prone bodies, Zayn refusing Liam’s offer of an arm to lean on as they leave the house; he instead choose to walk a bit behind him, arms wrapped around himself and eyes downcast.  
  
Liam doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t even know where to begin.  
  
“You got him out!” Harry sounds a little hysterical. “How did you get him to stop?”  
  
“I—” Liam glances at Zayn, who’s still standing behind him, hunched into himself. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Well, get in the car, and we’ll talk it over at home, yeah? The police should show up any minute now.”  
  
“I’m gonna walk home,” Zayn says suddenly. “I’ll see you lads there.”  
  
“Zayn, that’ll take an hour at least.”  
  
“This isn’t a great area, either,” Liam says.  
  
Zayn just gives him a blank look that says, _and after what you just saw, you think I can’t handle it?_  
  
“I just—need some space. I need to—” His eyes are wild and panicked, and Louis reaches out towards him, as if to grab his arm, but Zayn shies away, his chest rising and falling rapidly.  
  
“I’ll walk with you,” Liam says suddenly, to his own great surprise.  
  
“Liam,” Harry says warningly, “that’s maybe not such a great idea right now, yeah?”  
  
Liam ignores him. “Zayn, is it all right?”  
  
The eyes of the other three boys flick between the two of them rapidly. Zayn turns away slightly, still shaking (from exhaustion or shock or nerves, Liam doesn’t know, but he does know that he can’t let Zayn just wander off by himself after this).  
  
“Fine, whatever. Let’s go.”  
  
Louis manages to grab Zayn’s hand and pull him close. “Are you gonna be all right?”  
  
Zayn nods, eyes still downcast.  
  
“You’ll tell us what happened when you get home, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You’ve got your earpiece in?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Okay. Call us if—” here Louis lowers his voice a little, but Liam can still catch his words “—if he tries to—I dunno—you’ll be fine, yeah? But just give a shout in case he reacts . . . badly.”  
  
Zayn heaves out a bitter laugh. “Yeah.”  
  
“This doesn’t make you a monster, okay?” And this last bit is whispered so that Liam can barely hear him. Zayn’s response is even quieter:  
  
“Yeah, I was a monster long before this.”  
  
Louis shakes his head and lets him go. “Have fun. Don’t take too long.” He gives them both a warning look. “Don’t do anything stupid.”  
  
“I’m willing to beat up either one of you, if I have to,” Niall says off-handedly. “See ya later, ya shower o’ cunts.”  
  
The doors of the cars slam, and the boys pull away from the curb, leaving Liam standing next to Zayn with a universe of questions in his head, and not a single word left to voice them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that. Hope you liked it. I will hurry with the next chapter (feel free to yell at me if I don't).  
> And because it needs to be discussed: Zayn leaving. That is why I almost didn't upload this chapter. I'm still not sure if people still want to read this, since half the main ship isn't even in the band anymore. But in the end, I decided I'm gonna give it a go because A) I would be really sad if people just forgot about Zayn and Ziam and stopped writing fic involving him B) I'm just gonna go out on a limb here and say that I think he'll eventually come back C) I really enjoy writing this fic, and I wanna see it through to the end, and D) on the off chance that there's anyone who's dying to see how this turns out, I don't wanna be that writer who just stops writing and leaves everything unresolved.  
> So yeah. With that said, please let me know if you still want me to upload this. If it's any incentive, the next chapter involves a sad and beautiful Ziam heart-to-heart, and it will probably come quickly if you guys show interest. I understand if you don't, though.  
> Thanks for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. I love you all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I really uploading a fully editing chapter a mere two days after the last one? The answer is yes, yes I am, because apparently spring break has fundamentally changed who I am as person. I'm proud of me.  
> Quick couple things: Yes, I am gonna see this fic through til the end. People's response to the last chapter convinced me to do that (super big shoutout to everyone who commented on the last chapter; you all are the reason why this was done at the speed it was, and also the reason why I am the world's happiest writer). Also, because this chapter deals with touchy topics, let me just reiterate that this fic does NOT in any way represent my views on the family members of any member of One Direction (yes, that includes Zayn, shut up). Anything to do with family in this fic is the product of my own imagination, and solely invented for the sake of the plot.  
> Also, I'm gonna put a trigger warning on this chapter. Not just the "oh, watch out just in case" one I've put on the previous ones, but like, an actual one. Watch the tags. All usual disclaimers apply. Enjoy yourselves.

The minute the car is out of sight, Zayn turns on his heel and starts walking off, pulling his pack out of his pocket and flicking on his lighter. Liam just watches him go for a second, still too shocked to fully process everything that had happened, and then jogs after him.  
  
“Zayn—Zayn!”  
  
But the older boy doesn’t even slow down, just desperately inhales through the filter of his cigarette without looking at Liam.  
  
“ _Zayn_!”  
  
He halts so suddenly that Liam nearly crashes into him.  
  
“If you’re going to hit me now, or—something—just—be quick, yeah?” Zayn’s breathing is coming in ragged and harsh, and Liam swears his eyes are wet.  
  
“Zayn—what? I’m not gonna hit you, babe, please, just—I want to make sure you don’t get hurt or do anything stupid. M’not gonna hurt you.”  
  
Zayn just gives him a challenging glare.  
  
“And I want some answers,” Liam admits softly. “Some of those would be nice.”  
  
Zayn starts walking again, but this time slowly enough that Liam can easily keep pace with him.  
  
“What d’you want to know?” His voice is flat, almost resigned. He won’t look at Liam.  
  
“Anything you want to tell me.”  
  
“Just ask me something.” Another deep inhale of smoke, like he needs it to breathe. “It’s open season, c’mon.”  
  
“Anything?”  
  
“Fucking anything, Liam.”  
  
But now that Liam has the chance to clear up the beautiful, baffling mystery of Zayn Malik, all he wants to do is make the older boy’s hands stop shaking.  
  
“I . . .” He squeezes his eyes shut. “What were you doing back there? I could hear you in my head—you were calling me a monster?”  
  
Zayn laughs humorlessly, the noise ending on a hiccup that threatens to be a sob. “Wasn’t calling you a monster, babe. I was talking to myself.”  
  
“Okay,” Liam says in a small voice. “Can you just explain how I could hear you talking to yourself inside my head, then?”  
  
“I didn’t mean for that to happen—it just got—out of control. I was trying to look in those people’s heads for info about us; just trying to see what they knew. But I just—” He shakes his head and stubs out his fag on his sleeve after lighting up a second one with it. He’s obviously struggling with whatever he’s trying to get out, so Liam tugs on his sleeve a little (because he’s speeding up again, like he wants run away from all this), and says:  
  
“Babe—listen—just tell me from the beginning, okay? How’d you find out you can do—whatever you do?”  
  
The way the boys discovered their powers isn’t something they’ve ever really discussed with Liam, but it’s something he’s always been curious about, partially because he wants to know how he’s supposed to discover his own powers, and partially because (in his opinion, anyway) the origin story is always the best part of the superhero.  
  
Zayn gives him a blank look.  
  
“I mean—unless you don’t want to.” He looks down. “Sorry.”  
  
There’s a long, agonizing silence, during which Liam reconsiders even walking with Zayn in the first place, and then Zayn says, “I tried to kill myself when I was fifteen.”  
  
Liam’s head snaps up. A million questions spring into his head, _but let him finish, Payne_ tells him to keep his mouth shut.  
  
“It wasn’t the first fucking time, right, or the last, but it was the only time I came even fucking close to succeeding.” He’s staring straight ahead, breathing through the cigarette like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. “Slit my wrists and locked the door—that sort of thing doesn’t usually work, right, but it almost did for me, cause my d-dad didn’t fuckin’ notice, so I bled out for two days.” He takes another shaky breath, still not looking at Liam. “Two days should’ve fucking killed me, but for some godforsaken reason it didn’t, and I woke up on the bathroom floor covered in me own blood, and barely fucking breathing. And I could hear . . . fucking everything. I could hear m’dad downstairs, thinkin’ about how he’d need to get some money, somehow, so he could buy more booze, and I could hear my neighbor, thinking about how she’d need to drive her boys to footie practice, and her husband, thinking about how he was seein’ some woman on the side at his work—y’get the idea. And I thought I’d gone to fucking heaven. Because there’s no way something like that happens in real life, right?”  
  
Liam’s barely breathing himself, half because he can hardly believe what he’s hearing, and half because he’s suffocating under the weight of all the questions he has.  
  
“But eventually . . . it got so fucking _loud_ , you know? After about a week of having everyone’s lives inside my head, it was fucking torture. You wouldn’t think so, because everyone wants to be able to read minds, right? But I couldn’t shut it off, right, and I couldn’t put it on mute, and I had to hear everyone’s thoughts about everything in my head all the time. People always say, like, _oh, I’d use it to cheat on all my tests, or find out everyone’s secrets and blackmail them_ , but it wasn’t like that. I mean, I could hear the answers on tests, right, but I had to pick the right one out of thirty different ones in my head, and had to do that over the sound of the bloke in front of me thinking about jerkin’ off, and the girl behind me thinkin’ about her boyfriend breaking up with her, and the kids on either side thinking about their lunch or their next class or footie practice, or how much they hated themselves, or summat. And how’re y’gonna prove that you can hear someone’s thoughts? So—I tried to do myself in again—didn’t fuckin’ work. Again.” Another cigarette was lit, his hands shaking worse than ever. “And eventually I just ran away after about a year. Figured I was going crazy. Thought maybe I could get m’self killed on the streets or summat. Maybe if I just got away from my dad, it would go away.”  
  
“What happened with your dad?” Liam whispers.  
  
“He just—treated me like shit.” A shaky breath, in and out. “Which, I dunno, maybe I deserved. Maybe I still do. But he was—he was—yeah.” Zayn looks at the ground. “He was bad.”  
  
And Liam thinks to how Zayn flinches when you try to touch him, and curls into himself like he’s trying to make a small target when someone starts yelling, and thinks he knows what kind of bad Zayn’s father was.  
  
“Y’didn’t deserve it,” he says, “nobody deserves that kind of shit,” but Zayn doesn’t seem to hear.  
  
“So I hitchhiked and walked and bribed my way to London, cause I was thinkin’—you know, it’s London, there’s room for all kinds of crazies here, maybe there’s room for me, or if not that, maybe there’s room for someone who wants to put me out of me misery—and once I was here, I got involved with some bad shit trying t’make money.”  
  
_The drugs_ , Liam thinks, _that’s how he knew all that about the drug trade_.  
  
“I did some shit for drug dealers, and I slept with some people for money, and I realized that I’d left a bad place for an even worse one, and I was so ready to just—fucking—die.”  
  
And now Liam’s heart is hurting worse than it ever has, and Zayn looks so small and vulnerable and shaken up, and Liam wants to put every broken piece of his past back into the beautiful picture it should’ve been.  
  
“Zayn, man, you don’t need to keep telling me—”  
  
“If you want to know, you deserve to know everything,” Zayn says harshly. “M’not gonna burden you with my pathetic problems much more, all right? I just want to finish up so y’know what I’m capable of, so you don’t do what you did today again, and get yourself hurt.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant,” Liam mutters.  
  
“Well, it’s what I fucking mean. I’m fucking dangerous, and I could’ve killed you back there, and I—” Zayn runs his hands through his hair and hangs his head, and Liam hears him whisper, “And if I hurt you I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, Leeyum, I can’t let that happen, even if it means losing you,” almost like a prayer.  
  
“Go ahead and finish,” Liam says, softly, “I’ll listen as long as you want to talk, all right, babe?”  
  
Zayn swallows down the smoke like it’s oxygen, and all Liam wants to do is hold him.  
  
“Right, so I thought leaving my dad would fix something, but I could still hear people thinking. And then—I could start to control people’s thoughts. Just like—stop them from thinking about hurting me, at first, or make them think that they had leave me alone for some reason, right, but then it was bigger. I could control their actions from inside their head—make them think, _oh, I should give this kid money_ , or _hey, let’s walk away now_ , and they would. And that was pretty great, only it kind of made me sick to see people doing what I wanted like they were puppets, and not even realize they were being controlled. And then I could bring certain stuff to the front of people’s minds—memories, or secrets, or certain emotions—and then I could shut down parts of their brain. And I couldn’t control any of this stuff very well, so with that last one, I was scared that one day I would just shut down someone’s entire brain, and they would just—die.” He snorted shakily. “And believe me, I tried to shut down myself, and it didn’t fuckin’ work, cause I’m not that lucky.”  
  
“You’re—insanely powerful, then,” Liam says, his mouth dry. “Like—more powerful than, like, Batman.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s—it’s—yeah.” Zayn looks so entirely weary. “I can do some powerful, fucked up shit.”  
  
“And you met Louis and Simon eventually, though, right?”  
  
“Yeah.” Another cigarette, and Liam’s thinking of confiscating the pack like Louis had done. “They hit me with Simon’s car when Simon was teaching Lou to drive. I was sleeping under a bridge.” He almost glances at Liam. “Yeah, I was pretty pathetic, pretty fucked up. Sixteen, almost seventeen, and already runnin’ errands for dealers and whoring myself out, and sleeping under a bridge. Y’can fucking say it.”  
  
But it doesn’t make Liam think Zayn’s pathetic; rather, it just makes his throat tight at the thought of a young Zayn being so alone and broken and abandoned.  
  
“S’not pathetic, Z. It’s just—you had the shittiest hand you can get in life.”  
  
Zayn shrugs this off. “Simon caught onto my powers pretty quick, and recruited me just like he did Louis—”  
  
“Wait,” Liam says. “Wasn’t Tommo in school? Why weren’t his parents teaching him how to drive?”  
  
“Liam, dunno what world you’re living in, but Louis is a flamboyantly gay man who can shoot lightning out of his hands. His parents weren’t exactly thrilled with that. They sent him off to uni, told him that they didn’t want to see him until he shaped up, but he dropped out, and now he just collects his tuition money in the mail every month, and doesn’t speak to them all that much.”  
  
Liam’s a little surprised, honestly, but he’d known that Louis went to Harry’s for Christmas, so it’s not flooring the way Zayn’s story is.  
  
“But, like, Simon was thrilled with what I could do—Lou wasn’t, though. He thought it was right creepy, the way I could tell what he was thinking, and even though Simon started helping me control it so it wasn’t on all the time, Louis still—you know—threatened to kill me in m’sleep if I ever tried anything on him. When Haz and Nialler came they didn’t take it too well either, but by then I had it under control. What really brought Lou around was that I started to project—what you saw back there. I can let other people hear my thoughts—although, like, today I wasn’t doin’ it on purpose. But I let him see I wasn’t trying t’mess with him, or anything. And we ended up liking each other, and we hooked up with the boys. And then you came along.”  
  
“And then I came along.” They’re almost back to the flat by now.  
  
“And I just—hated the thought of you finding, out, Li.” Zayn’s voice is exhausted, worn to a thread. “And I know it was selfish and shit, but I just—I couldn’t—I didn’t want you to leave the boys—leave me—cause of what I can do. And when I told the other boys, they reacted so badly—I just—” He breaks off, shaking his head (they’re walking into the flat building, and Liam’s head is spinning), and then just stubs out his cigarette, passing up on lighting another with a visible effort. “I’m sorry.”  
  
They walk up the stairs to the flat in silence, Liam still processing everything he’s heard. Zayn’s head is bowed; he hasn’t looked at Liam once since they left the basement together.  
  
When they get to the flat door, Liam stops Zayn before he can open it.  
  
“What?” There’s a flash of fear in Zayn’s expression. “You don’t—Liam, I know I shouldn’t have kept it a—Liam—”  
  
“Zayn, just look at me, yeah?” When Zayn’s eyes remain fixated on the floor, he whispers, “Please.”  
  
When Zayn looks up, Liam doesn’t see him as a mystery anymore. All he sees a beautiful, broken boy who’s been through too much pain that he’s had to bear all alone, who thinks he’s a monster because of something he can’t change, who could have been warped by everything he’s been through, but instead has turned the cruelty he’s seen into a soft smile and warm eyes and the biggest heart Liam has ever seen in anyone. Someone who’s terrified to lose what he’s been given, but convinced that it’ll leave him anyway. Someone who Liam thinks he admires and cares for almost more than anyone he’s ever met. And he wants to tell Zayn that, wants to somehow tell him how amazing and precious he is to Liam, how he could never hate him no matter what he could do with his powers, but Liam’s never been good with words, so he just gruffly says, “Come here.”  
  
Zayn shuffles an uncertain step forward, and Liam draws him into a hug tight enough to say all the things he can’t. Zayn makes a soft noise of surprise and tenses up.  
  
“Zayn, man, I—I love you a lot, all right? You’re one of my best mates, and you—I just—I get it. It’s okay. It’s okay, and I still love you.”  
  
Zayn lets out that almost-sob again against Liam’s chest.  
  
“I’m not gonna leave. It doesn’t—I don’t give a fuck what you can do. You can look in my head all you want, yeah? I don’t care.”  
  
“It’s not on all the time, you donut,” Zayn mutters, his voice shaky but gratified. “I can control it now. I only use it when we do missions. And like—emergencies.”  
  
“Okay,” Liam says, pressing a careful kiss into the top of Zayn’s head. “Okay. I just want you to know that I’m good with all this. I’m just glad I know. I trust you, yeah? I’m glad you trusted me enough to—you know. Tell me.”  
  
And Zayn lets out a long, shuddering breath, and Liam feels like he like never wants to let go.  
  
They step into the flat together and are immediately jumped by Louis and Niall.  
  
“Did you tell him?”  
  
“Are you okay with it?”  
  
“Please tell me you’re not gonna leave.”  
  
“Zayn, mate, what did you find in their heads?”  
  
“Did you tell him?”  
  
“Are you guys okay?”  
  
“ _Did you tell him_?”  
  
“Okay!” Harry parts the two of them easily and surveys Liam and Zayn. “Give us the scoop, then.” He elbows Louis—very, very gently—and gives him the world’s least threatening scowl. “Give them space to breathe, Lou.”  
  
“Did you tell him?” Louis demands, undeterred.  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn says. “He knows just about everything there is to know, now.”  
  
“Well, thank fuck,” Niall jumps in. “It was getting really annoyin’—not to mention, like, fucking _hard_ —to keep hidin’ it from ya, mate.”  
  
“Oh, like you’re not always fucking hard?” Louis says with a sly smile, and Niall slaps the back of his head.  
  
“We called Simon,” Harry says calmly. “He wants to know what you found as soon as possible, Z.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Zayn says heavily, “There’s not that much to tell ‘im. Everything was pretty normal in their heads, yeah—only—”  
  
“Only?”  
  
“It was like—I searched them for info on all five of us, right? And none of them knew anything—except—they all knew your name.”  
  
Harry blanches visibly. “My name?”  
  
“Yeah. Just—out of context. Nothing about how they found it out, or why they knew it, or even whether they should be looking for you or not. Just your name.”  
  
Louis opens his mouth, frowning, but Liam cuts him off before he can say anything.  
  
“Let’s call up Simon and tell him what we know, yeah? And then—you,” he points at Zayn, “are gonna go get some rest, yeah? Dunno when you last slept, but y’look knackered.”  
  
Zayn blinks. “Liam, this is more—”  
  
“Zayn, after what you did back there, you’re literally gonna pass out in about five more minutes,” Louis chimes in. “And you walked all the way back. Stop bein’ a selfless bastard and do what Payno says.”  
  
There’s a short silence, during which Zayn shifts around uncomfortably under everyone’s gaze, and then finally nods.  
  
“Yeah, okay, lemme call Simon first.”  
  
“Okay,” Liam says. “I’ll make you tea. Helps you sleep, yeah?”  
  
The corner of Zayn’s mouth jerks up, and he smiles a small, private smile at the tiling near Liam’s foot. “Okay.”  
  
Louis follows Liam into the kitchen as Zayn dials up Simon.  
  
“Are you sure you’re okay with all this, Li?”  
  
“Yeah,” Liam says, turning on the kettle. “I don’t care what he can do, Louis. I’ve been living with you crazy lot for a year now, y’think that I’m gonna leave cause Zaynie can do some crazy shit with his head?” He scours the cupboard for the honey, because while Zayn may take his coffee black, he drinks his tea sweeter than Niall does. “I’ve had Haz spy on me while I was takin’ a dump; nothing phases me anymore.”  
  
Louis laughs at that. “I guess that’s good. Just—I dunno. I took it really badly, yeah? I was a prick about it.”  
  
And he doesn’t say it, but Liam feels the subtext here is _and maybe somewhere, deep down, I was hoping you would be upset too, so I wouldn’t look so bad_. But he knows that Louis means only the best, and that whatever disappointment he feels in himself is overshadowed by his relief for Zayn, and so Liam doesn’t embarrass either of them by bringing it up.  
  
“But I guess—he couldn’t control it as well back then, either. And I—I didn’t know—I didn’t know exactly how bad he’d had it, you know? You know how I realized he wasn’t out to get me?”  
  
“Yeah,” Liam says cautiously, pouring the water over the tea bag. “That projecting thing, innit—”  
  
“Yeah, sort of. He was—you know how he has nightmares?”  
  
Liam nods.  
  
“When he was asleep, he was projecting his dreams into my head. Not realizing it, course. So I’d have these awful things—about his dad, and the time he was on the street—they were in me head. And I sort of realized that, like, someone who has that in them—they aren’t gonna want to bother with me, yeah? He’s got enough problems without trying to make me his enemy. And then I was sort of like, you know—I don’t need to make his life any harder.”  
  
Liam knows there’s going to be a point to all this, but it’s taking a long time coming.  
  
“Have y’ever seen ‘im with his kit off?” Louis asks unexpectedly.  
  
“I—” he flushes. “Seen all you boys starkers at some point, Lou. It happens.”  
  
“Oi, get your head out of the gutter. S’not where this is going. He’s pretty scarred up, yeah?”  
  
“I—yeah.” Liam thinks back to the last time he’d walked in on Zayn changing; stripes of scars across his back, a thick, vicious slash down his side, countless other small marks shining in the light from the bathroom door across the hall. “I mean, it’s a dangerous job we have, innit.”  
  
Louis nods grimly. “Yeah, but those aren’t from the job, mate. Most of those are from his dad.”  
  
“His dad?”  
  
He nods again. “He didn’t have a pretty time growing up, all right? His dad did shit to him that I don’t even have words for. The only—”  
  
Liam feels sick. “Like—what do you mean—like—”  
  
“Not, like, anything sexual—that’s what you meant, yeah?”  
  
He nods, his vision swimming.  
  
“I don’t think so. But when he was homeless—that—that—yeah. That wasn’t real nice either, all right? The only reason I know all this is cause I had to fucking live with his nightmares in me until he and Simon figured out how to stop it. Which, I mean, they really aren’t nightmares at all. They’re his fucking life on replay.” Louis gives him a serious look. “I know it’s a lot to handle at once, yeah? But I just want to tell you all this because—” here he straightens up, tilting his chin upwards to an attempt to look intimidating “—there’s gonna be shit we never know about him. And I know that sometimes he’s hard to deal with, and it’s hard to figure out what’s going on inside his head, but you gotta—I don’t want him to get more hurt than he already has been. He’s a fucking mess, but he’s _my_ fucking mess, and if you—if you screw him up, now that you know what’s he’s been through, I will fucking _fry_ you in your sleep. And I won’t even regret. Got it, Payno?”  
  
Liam pulls the tea bag out the mug, watching his hands shake a little. “Yeah, Lou—I wouldn’t really—I don’t want to hurt him. That’s, like, the last thing I want to do. I just—he’s . . . he’s great, yeah? He’s fucking amazing, he’s probably the bravest person I know, and I just—I wouldn’t lose him for anything.”  
  
Louis’ face softens. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.” Then he shoves Liam’s arm playfully. “Love ya, Payno.”

  


All of Zayn’s ill-founded fears crumble to dust that night when he wakes up silently screaming into his pillow, and it’s Liam who knocks on his door, and asks to come in, and tells him he heard him sleep talking on the way to the bathroom.  
  
“And, like, mate,” he says earnestly, “I owe it to you to check in on you, cause if my tea didn’t put you to sleep like a baby, then what kind of tea maker am I? Not a very good one, I’ll tell you that.”  
  
Zayn manages to laugh at that. “You may owe me another cup in the morning, then.”  
  
Liam grows a little more somber. “Nightmares?”  
  
And fuck, Zayn can’t even look at him. “Yeah,” he whispers.  
  
Liam, being Liam, just nods quietly as if Zayn’s nightmares are something he should be worried about, as if Zayn—quiet, awkward, broken-up Zayn who can’t even let someone touch him without flinching—is something that should be keeping him up at night, and crosses the room to come sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t touch him, and for that Zayn’s thankful, because if he did, Zayn’s not entirely sure how he’s react.  
  
“When I was younger,” he says finally, “most of the people at my school didn’t like me very much, yeah? Some of them—this one group of blokes, mainly—they gave me a bit of a hard time.”  
  
“They gave _you_ a hard time?” Zayn asks in disbelief. He can’t imagine anyone disliking kind, honest, open-hearted Liam, and has an even harder time picturing anyone trying to cross him, because under the other boy’s crinkly eyed smile are hard muscles and strong fists and years of military training.  
  
“Yeah, bit hard to picture now, innit. But yeah—back then I was a scrawny little shit, and I didn’t know how to speak up for meself, and I was sick a lot, so this one group of lads starting pushing me around a little, calling me names—stuff like that.” Liam’s quiet for a moment. Zayn can hear his breathing, soft and steady. “And so one day they broke my rm. And I had to go to the hospital. And that was the first time me mum had heard about the whole thing. I didn’t want her help, y’know? I thought it would be giving into those blokes who were bullying me. I thought it would make me the weaker one. But after I told her how me arm got broke, she made sure the guys got it hot from the school, and she signed me up for boxing lessons, and—you know—stuff got better. But if I’d never gone to her for help, or I hadn’t told her the truth about my arm, I dunno what would’ve happened.” He laughs a little into the dark. ‘I dunno. Guess what I’m trying to say here, is that it’s okay to ask for help sometimes. Sometimes it’s the hardest thing you can do, yeah? It doesn’t—it doesn’t have to make you weak.”  
  
Zayn thinks that Liam’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his life.  
  
“And I don’t mind,” Liam continues, his voice a little stronger now, “I don’t mind if you ask for help from me, Zaynie. I don’t, okay? Like—whatever it is. And if you don’t want any help—that’s cool too. I just want you to know that like . . . it’s an option. And it’ll always be open to you.” He glances down with what looks like a sheepish smile in the dark, picking at Zayn’s blanket. “All right, y’probably didn’t want to hear any of that. Should I—I should go, right? I’ll leave you alone now.”  
  
But Zayn’s still just incredibly breath taken by the fact that Liam exists at all to say anything until Liam gets to the door.  
  
“No—Liam—don’t.”  
  
He pauses in the doorway.  
  
“Leeyum—just—stay?” For a moment, he can hear the pathetic, desperate pleading in his own voice, and then it’s eclipsed by the simple need for _Liam_. “Please.”  
There’s the longest silence of his life.  
  
“Should I be on the floor, or—?”  
  
“The bed’s fine, if—if that’s not weird, or anything.”  
  
“I’ve been living with you lot for a year, nothing’s weird anymore, babe. S’actually more comfortable.” He settles onto the opposite side of the bed, feet brushing Zayn’s under the blankets. “Jesus, you’re cold.”  
  
“M’always cold.”  
  
“I know.” Liam carefully extends an arm across the bed. “Is—is it okay if we, like—?”  
  
“Cuddle?” Zayn laughs, and Liam shrugs sheepishly.  
  
“Sorry, I just . . .”  
  
“No,” Zayn says quietly, scooting across the bed. “I think that might be okay.”  
  
Maybe it’s just the presence of Liam that chases them away, but he doesn’t have nightmares for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now I either owe you a box of tissues or a high five depending on whether you cried or not (yes, I'm secretly hoping you all cried, it would mean I did my job right). I apologize for the shameless lack of actual plot in this chapter; I just wanted to put all this stuff out at once, cause I started to lose track of what I could and couldn't mention, and who knew what oops. Next chapter we will be going back to your regularly scheduled adventures. That should be coming soon (?). I'm aiming for Sunday, tentatively. Don't hate me if it happens before/after then.   
> These notes are always so long, I'm sorry. I'm a rambler, I can't help it. I hope you liked this chapter. Leave me comments and kudos and stuff. Still thirsty for those. I'll shut up now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
>  Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm a day late, sorryyyy. I tried. And I also may have binge-written most of this tonight (and it's not early, either), and then maybe not edited it. Whoops. I'm in the middle of an academic crisis, please pity me. At least it's pretty long.  
> This chapter is....a mess. Yikes. This was outlined at around 2-3 AM and written somewhere in between 11 and midnight, though, so, like, keep that in mind. Also this is turning out to be a waaay darker fic than I even intended. Sorry about that too.  
> There's some trigger-warning worthy stuff in this chapter, especially involving past mentions of certain sexual encounters (which isn't in the tags sorryyy) so be warned. All usual disclaimers apply, blah blah blah. Have fun.

_Zayn is twelve years old, and there’s a man standing at the foot of Zayn’s bed, his shadow stretching out under his feet in the light from the open door. There’s a bottle in one of his hands, and a belt in the other. Just from the look on his face, Zayn knows that short of passing out in a puddle of his own blood, there will be no sleep for him tonight.  
  
Zayn is fourteen years old, and there’s a glass of his dad’s whiskey in front of him to chase down the pile of pills in his hands. There are bloodstains on the carpet, and a hole in the wall, and Zayn can feel every bone in his body aching like he’s a thousand years old. His end will come quietly. Something that resembles what used to be his soul hopes it will also come quickly. Every other part of him is too dead to care.  
  
Zayn is sixteen, and he’s watching a grizzled man with an ugly leer ink over the suicide scars on his wrists. The thick, shiny marks will always be there, but now at least they’ll be buried under the tattoos he’s bought in exchange for the promise of getting down on his knees for this man later. Next time he comes back, he’ll have to bend over, too.  
“You worthless piece of shit—should’ve killed you when your useless mother left—”  
  
“Waste of space—fucking disgusting—”  
  
“Ugly little faggot rat—”  
  
He’s nearly seventeen, asleep under a bridge when the headlights wake him up, and the roar of the engine is the only thing he hears over his own desperate plea of “please, let this be the end—”_  
  
“Zayn!”  
  
Zayn wakes up with a jolt, smacking the hand on his shoulder away from him.  
  
“Hey, easy there, mate—all right?”  
  
He’s shaking, hyperventilating, and begging himself to _get a grip_. “Yeah, I—” he looks down at himself, chest heaving and covered in sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.”  
  
Niall’s friendly face is creased with worry. “Need a minute, then?”  
  
“No—no, I’m fine.”  
  
“You don’t fucking look—”  
  
“Why’d you wake me up?” Zayn slings his feet over the side of the bed and perches on the edge, shoulders hunched.  
  
“Simon’s on speaker in the living room,” Niall says after a minute. “He says he wants you to go over what you found during the mission.”  
  
“Yeah, all right.” He stands up and stretches, immediately shivering despite the fact that he’d been sweating in bed. “Lemme get a jumper.”  
  
“Right.” Niall watches him cross the room. “Pants, too maybe?”  
  
“What, boxers aren’t good enough for you?” There’s a clean pair of joggers on the floor of his closet, though, and he snatches them up with still-trembling hands.  
  
“D’you want Liam to come in here?” Niall asks suddenly.  
  
“What?” He freezes in the act of pulling a sweater over his head. “No?”  
  
“I know he can calm y’down better n’ I can, Z.”  
  
“I don’t need calming down,” he says, hating the way his voice breaks. “I’m fucking twenty two years old, let me take care of myself, yeah?”  
  
“What about when you refuse to take care of yourself?”  
  
Zayn finishes getting dressed and turns to face Niall. “They’re fucking dreams, all right, Niall? I’m fine. I’m a fucking adult. I know they aren’t real. If they fuck me up a little, that’s my problem, yeah? They’re just dreams. I should be able to deal with it.”  
  
Niall makes the sort of skeptical face that only he can pull off. “We all know they’re not just dreams, though. And you know I'm not just talking about the dreams.”  
  
“Whatever, fuck off,” he mumbles. “Let’s just go talk to Simon now.”  
  
The rest of the boys are huddled around a phone in silence when Niall and Zayn walk into the living room. Niall just gives him a little shove towards them (maybe a little bit in the direction of Liam in particular, who knows) and says, “I got him.”  
  
“Aw, and you’re fully dressed and everything, God bless you,” Louis says. “C’mere, we need you and your miraculous brain.”  
  
“Zayn?” Simon says through the phone. “Are you there?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m here now.”  
  
“Good. I need you to reiterate exactly what information you got about you boys from the dealers’ heads during the mission.”  
  
“Yeah, all right, uh—basically, they didn’t know much,” Zayn says. “They’d never heard of me or Lou or anyone but Harry. And they just knew his name. Harry Styles. Just—out of context, like. Like, they knew his name, but not what he looked like, or why they knew it, or anything. It was like—you know how you know that you’re left handed or right handed? You don’t really have any memory about learning to be that way, or who taught you how to be right or left handed, or anything like that. You just _know_. It was like that. It was like they’d all been born knowin’ the name Harry Styles, but nothing about Haz himself.”  
  
There’s a long silence while everyone processes this information, and then Louis says, “Well, that’s fucking creepy,” in a flat voice.  
  
“You’re telling me,” Zayn says.  
  
“All right. So when you told me that the first time,” Simon says, “I talked to Cher. Back in the day when we were running around together doing what you boys do now, she was a bit of an expert on all sorts of mind tricks. She was clairvoyant, see—could tell the future. So she knew a little about being able to see or know weird stuff in your head.”  
“So what did she say?” Liam says quickly, before Simon can get sidetracked.  
  
“She said it sounds like someone’s either been planting information in their heads, or tampered with their memory.”  
  
Zayn feels his stomach drop.  
  
“But,” Louis says slowly, narrowing his eyes, “The only person who can do something like that—that we’ve ever heard of, and you know a lot of people like us, right, Simon?—is Zayn, so, like, that’s not possible? Because we know Zayn didn’t mess with those people.”  
  
There’s a short pause before Simon replies. “I’d have to agree with you on that, Louis. Something is definitely very strange about this whole scenario, but I wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions. The probability of a person like us residing in this city that I don’t know about is very slim, especially if they were as powerful as Zayn. I’ll ask around—Paul’s usually well informed on these things, and I think Louis might be in the city for the summer as well. But I do have to say that Cher’s assumption is a little out there. With that said, I’d keep it on the table.”  
  
“So if you don’t think that this is supernatural, how do you explain all this?” Zayn says. “I mean, I can understand that the drug gang is being told to look out for Harry, but, I mean, they don’t even remember being told about him? That’s just weird, Simon. I’ve never seen something like that before.”  
  
“Well, you were a little—out of control at the time. It’s possible that you missed something, yes? I know you’re powerful, Zayn, but you aren’t perfect.”  
  
_Oh, I’m a long shot from perfect,_ he thinks bitterly.  
  
“It’s entirely possible you just weren’t in your right mind at the time and you missed part of the info surrounding Harry. Like I said, jumping to conclusions at this point is useless and could be dangerous. And,” here he can practically hear the frown in Simon’s voice, “we need to start practicing on controlling your powers better, Zayn. You can’t let your hair-trigger temper and lifetime of . . . issues affect you when you’re on a mission.”  
  
There’s a silence, during which Zayn has to remind himself how to breathe, during which the boys all turn to look at him, during which the sounds of _you’ll never be good enough, you broken, worthless bastard_ echo through his head until he can barely think. He bows his head so he doesn’t have to see the expressions on the boys’ faces when he continues.  
  
“So you do you think it is, then?”  
  
“I think it’s probably just another spat over drugs that resulted in some killings. We took out the Walsons, yes?”  
  
“Yeah,” he mutters.  
  
“And that stopped the murders?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“All right, so we solved the problem. I’d says we do some more research, look into it a little bit more, and if we find nothing else to be suspicious of, we move on. It’s not your job to protect all the low-lifes of London from the drug trade.”  
  
“Our job is to protect people, though, right?” he says tightly. “That’s what all of this is about. And y’can say whatever you like about the low-lifes of London, Simon, but in case you forgot, I used to be one of them, yeah? And they’re fucking people. That’s all they are. They’re desperate, unlucky people. And if we don’t protect, who’s gonna? Cause I can tell you the cops weren’t protecting me when I was out on the street corner selling myself so I could eat for the first time in a week when I was fucking sixteen. If we don’t do it, no one else is going to.”  
  
No one says anything. He can’t look at the boys. He hears Niall whisper “he was having nightmares” like that has anything to do with it, and Liam reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off.  
  
“This is what I mean by letting your issues affect your missions, Zayn.”  
  
The silence deadens, and Zayn feels a part of him drop out of his chest. _You’re pathetic_.  
  
“So we’re just gonna move on from this then?” he asks, words like _weak link_ and _oversensitive_ and _undeserving_ bouncing around his head, eating him up.  
  
“We’ll do some more research, but eventually, yes.”  
  
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. _If everything is just going to make you upset and weak, why are you even here? You’re no good to them, you’re useless and fragile and worthless_. “I think I’ll go catch up on my sleep, then. Tell me if you need me again.”  
  
He retreats to the safety of his bedroom, where closed doors give him the luxury of falling apart in peace. 

  


Liam hears the door close behind Zayn and resists the urge to get up to go check on him. Harry jostles his elbow slightly after a minute, whispering, “Yeah, he’s really not okay.”  
  
“Should I—?”  
  
“Let’s just wrap this up with Simon and then we can check in with him.”  
  
Liam nods. “Is there anything else, Simon?”  
  
“There is one more thing—make sure you tell Zayn when he comes back. There’s one gang I’ve got my eye in particular. They’re connected with the branch you raided last week, and it seems that they may have had contact with the Walsons. It’ll probably be beneficial to check them out.”  
  
“All right, how do we do that, then?” Louis sounds sullen; Liam knows how protective he is of Zayn, and the fact that Simon upset him probably isn’t sitting well with the older boy. It’s not sitting well with Liam, either, but (and maybe it’s just his years in the military speaking) there’s a job to be done.  
  
“They practically own a nightclub not too far from the office you raided. From what I’ve heard, it seems to be their unofficial headquarters. A few of you—no more than three, I think—should go down there and see what there is to be seen.”  
  
“I’ll go,” Liam says immediately.  
  
“Well . . .” Simon hesitates. “Maybe not, Liam.”  
  
“What do you mean, maybe not?” Louis practically snarls. “Liam isn’t good enough for you either, then?”  
  
Harry puts his hand on Louis’ shoulder, and he subsides a little, throwing a nasty glance at the phone on the table.  
  
“Why can’t I go?” Liam asks evenly.  
  
“You’re—not well versed in the ways places like this are run.”  
  
“None of us are, really—well, Zayn might be.”  
  
“Which is why I suggest you take him. As long as he isn’t too—triggered by it.”  
  
Louis opens his mouth furiously, but Harry increases the pressure on his shoulder warningly.  
  
“All right,” Niall says. “Zayn’s going, who else?”  
  
“Louis, you should go. You have skills that would be useful to use in a fight. And Harry—your vision should prove useful, because any odd activity will be done clandestinely.”  
  
“Li and I won’t go?”  
  
“No. Niall—you’re too clean cut and your powers are far too noticeable—”  
  
“Oh, and Lou’s aren’t?”  
  
Simon ignores him. “And Liam—well—you’d stick out as well. And you don’t have any powers.”  
  
Liam sucks in a sharp breath. _Don’t complain_. He swallows down his protests, and looks at his feet, and tries not to take it personally.  
  
“Doesn’t have any powers we know of yet,” Louis hisses, “and fuck you if you think that Liam isn’t the most reliable out of all of us. Rather have Payno at me back than—”  
  
“That’s enough,” Harry says, but Liam can tell that he’s struggling to keep his voice even, eyes flickering to the door of Zayn’s bedroom. He has one hand almost physically restraining Louis, and the other rubbing circles into Liam’s hair. Niall’s slouched against the arm of the sofa, biting his nails sullenly. “While we’re there, what do we look for?”  
  
“Any sign of anyone you saw at the office, anyone talking about anything relating to the office or the Walsons, or just anything that suggests that they know more than they should about us. Harry, look for anyone who recognizes you. Chat a few people up for info. We just need an overview.”  
  
“Right,” Harry says slowly. “Well, I think we’re good then, yeah?”  
  
“I suppose. Call me later, will you?”  
  
“Sure.” Harry reaches over and clamps a hand over Louis’ mouth before he can say anything. “Talk to y’then.” He hangs up, and then swats Louis’ hand away from the phone, jumping a little at the faint electric current that courses through the older boy when he’s upset. “Control yourself, love.”  
  
“What a _fucking_ asshole,” Louis snarls, ripping back out of Harry’s grip and throwing a pillow at the wall, narrowly missing Niall. “Can’t believe that he had a go at Liam and Zayn at one time.” He glares at the out-of-reach pillow. “The shit he was saying was disgusting.”  
  
Harry nods and soothes a hand over his back gently. “I know. Go make sure Zayn’s all right, yeah? Niall, you go too.”  
  
Surprisingly, the two boys get to their feet and head off obediently. Liam makes to rise too, but Harry plops himself down next to him and wraps a long arm around his shoulders, forcing him to sit again.  
  
“Let’s ‘ave a little chat, yeah? Just me ‘n you.”  
  
“All right,” Liam says with trepidation.  
  
Harry nods slowly, his jaw working in that way it does when he’s thoughtful, like he’s chewing invisible gum. “Anything you want to say?”  
  
“Me? Noo . . .”  
  
“Sure?”  
  
Liam purses his lips and stares at the floor, cheeks hot with something like embarrassment. “Just—he doesn’t want me to go, yeah? He thinks I’m a weak link or summat? I—I already feel a bit useless, sometimes, when you lads—do your stuff. And that—what he said hurt a little, s’all. I’ll get over it.”  
  
Harry doesn’t say anything for a bit, and Liam’s sort of grateful.  
  
“All right. I mean—first of all, you’re probably the strongest person we have. You—”  
  
“Not hardly, Haz. You lads are so much—”  
  
“It has nothing to do with some bullshit ability to affect the weather or tell the future or whatever you end up being able to do. You do the best under stress. You keep y’head, yeah? Lou gets really high strung and snappy—look how he was just now—and I’m always too optimistic, and sometimes I screw up—told ‘em my name, remember?—and Niall doesn’t like stress, and just ends up really nervous, and Zayn—Zayn’ll do okay on the outside, but y’know that he’s actually a mess inside. You know how he gets. I think you’re the closest we have to someone who’s a constant factor, yeah? So don’t y’go with your “oh, I don’t have any superpowers, so I’m useless” or your “oh, I feel like I don’t belong” because you’re the glue that holds us all together, sometimes.”  
  
Liam can still feel blood burning in his cheeks, but he’s a little gratified by Harry’s words, even if they don’t entirely take about the sting of always being the odd one out.  
“So, like, don’t listen to what Simon says. He’s just under stress—we all are. You are not a weak link. Y’never have been. Do you believe me?”  
  
Liam swallows hard. Harry has always been far too kind for this world, he thinks.  
  
“Liam. Believe me?”  
  
“Yeah,” he whispers, “I believe you.”  
  
“Okay.” Harry stands up and stretches out his too-tall body. “And you’ll probably end up coming with us, anyway. Z doesn’t like clubs much.”  
  
Liam nods and stands too, “I think I’ll go check on him, yeah? Make sure he’s all right. What Simon said to him was, like, bullshit.”  
  
“Yeah, he was talkin’ a lot of bullshit today, apparently.”  
  
“I mean—no, listen—I just—what he said to me wasn’t right, and everything, but he really took a shot at Zaynie. Bringin’ up his past like that was a low blow.”  
  
Harry nods. “All right then—tell me how he’s doing.”  
  
When Liam enters the room, Zayn’s sitting on the foot of the bed, face impassive while Louis and Niall chatter at him from either side. When he sees Liam he rolls his eyes.  
  
“Jesus, is everyone gonna make sure that I’m okay? I’m fine, all right?” He scrubs a hand over his eyes, but whether it’s from fatigue or upset, Liam can’t tell. “I fuckin’ overreacted, okay? I just want to sleep. You can trust me. I’m not gonna take a jump out the window just cause Simon said something that shouldn’t’ve upset me.”  
  
“It wasn’t an overreaction,” Liam says, because the tenseness in Zayn’s shoulders and his tightly knotted hands screams that he’s still upset. “What he said was shitty.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever; doesn’t give me a reason to walk out on work, though, right? All you lads can deal with him. I should be able to.”  
  
“Yeah, well, he’s not telling the rest of us that we have issues and tempers,” Louis said hotly. “Even though I obviously deserved it more.”  
  
“Well, he wasn’t lying, was he? I’m fucking messed up.” Zayn flops back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. “Now let me sleep, yeah?”  
  
“So eager to get to sleep after them nightmares, mate?” Niall says, and Zayn shoots him a deadly glare.  
  
“Lads,” Liam says softly, “Give us a minute, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, all right.” Niall stands up and Louis reluctantly follows suite. “Good luck.”  
  
Zayn flips him off without even looking at him.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, get out, now.” Liam makes a shooing motion with his hands. “And close the door behind you.”  
  
The minute the handle clicks in the doorframe, Zayn says, “Not in the mood for a heart-to-heart right now, Liam,” without looking away from the ceiling.  
  
“Not what I’m here for, mate,” Liam says easily, sitting down next to him.  
  
“Then just spit it out and let me go back to sleep.”  
  
“I—okay. Anything you want t’talk about?”  
  
“Nope. All good. Let me sleep.”  
  
“Sure?”  
  
“Abso-fucking-lutely, Liam.”  
  
“He took a go at me, too, y’know.”  
  
Zayn abruptly sits up. “He what?”  
  
“Yeah. Said I shouldn’t go on the next mission with you guys cause I’m not some bigshot superhero like you lads.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. “That sounded bitter, sorry.”  
  
“He said you can’t come cause you can’t do some stupid shit like us? That’s fuckin’ bullshit.”  
  
“I know,” Liam says. “I’m just saying that what he said probably wasn’t personal. He was probably just in a pissy mood, yeah?”  
  
Zayn doesn’t seem to hear. “Listen, at least what he said to me was justified. I’m screwed up as shit, and I don’t think—I should be stronger than I am. But you’re—you’re incredible.”  
  
There’s something in his tone that sounds like (even though Liam knows it’s arrogant to think) he sees the sun rise and set in Liam, even when he’s at his worst. And even though Liam came to comfort Zayn, he can’t help but feel like he’s anything but a weak link.

  


Zayn has never really liked small clubs. He likes the big ones, the ones where you can lose yourself among the hundreds of strangers and the flashing lights. He likes feeling the bass rumble in his chest and vibrate in his toes. But the small clubs—the personal, claustrophobic, dingy ones in the worse parts of London—those put him on edge, make him feel like he’s sixteen and shakily chatting up a man who he knows will fuck him roughly in the bathrooms and thrust twenty quid in his hand afterward (a poor price for the soul he was selling bit by bit, but the most he could ask as an unexperienced teenager who hadn’t washed in weeks).  
  
And yet, here he is, standing at the bar of a smallish club in a bad area, drink in one hand and fingers drumming tightly along the barstool, a nervous beat that keeps him wary and jumpy. The flashbacks are somehow more distressing than usual today, but he swallows them down with him alcohol and chases them down with guilt, because he’s not supposed to let his issues and his past affect his work, remember?  
  
Harry’s out on the dance floor, twirling dreamily to the psychedelic beat between two slim blokes who look like they want to eat him alive. He doesn’t look like he’s doing much work or getting much information, but Zayn can’t really complain, because he’s too on edge to do much himself. Louis is nowhere to be seen, and whether he’s just lost on the dance floor, or in the bathrooms with some bloke, Zayn doesn’t know, but he’s willing to bet that he’s not doing much work either. He doesn’t really know what Simon was hoping to accomplish by sending them to a nightclub to work, but they’re all university age blokes, and not much is going to get done.  
  
Somewhere in between his nervousness and the disappointment at the weakness of his memories, Zayn half-way wishes that Liam was here. The younger lad has some sort of God-given gift for wiggling his way through the cracks in Zayn’s constantly donned armor and calming him down when no one else’s soothing words can. And no doubt he’d be able to squeeze some sort of information out of someone here with his charming, open, honey brown eyes that just beg you trust them. _And he’d be more focused than any of us_ , Zayn thinks, sullenly stubbing out his cigarette on the bar counter and ignoring the bartender’s glare. And yet, Liam is at home because of Simon’s bullshit.  
  
_He’s safe there. You can’t hurt him when he’s so far away._  
  
And now Zayn can’t breathe beneath the weight of his memories and guilt and conflicted feelings. He lights up another cigarette and pulls at it like a breathing tube.  
  
“Zayn!”  
  
He turns to find Louis stumbling towards with disheveled hair, obviously roaring drunk.  
  
“Zaaayn, c’mere.” Louis wraps an arm around Zayn’s waist and pulls his ear down to Louis’ alcohol scented mouth. “Zayn, how’re y’doing? Find much yet?”  
  
“No, not much,” Zayn says stiffly, trying not to think of rough, grabby hands groping over his body while he choked back a sob because this is _just Louis_ and _don’t let this affect the mission._  
  
“Aww, Zaynie.” Louis makes a ridiculous pouty face. “Aw, why so sad? Why so sad, my poor, darling Zayners? My Malik boy, my Zaynie bear, my . . .” He hiccups and squeezes Zayn’s waist. “If anything, I should be sad. Not you.”  
  
As with everything, it’s better to appease Louis when he’s drunk. “And why’s that, Tommo?”  
  
“Because Harry,” and here Louis leans in conspiratorially, “Harry is out there, and not here w’me.”  
  
“He’s allowed to dance, isn’t he?”  
  
Louis whines and sits down on the barstool heavily. “Sadly, yes. Sadly—this is really tragic, Malik, listen to me—sadly, Harry is allowed to dance with whoever ‘e fuckin’ pleases. Sadly, he’s not only dancing with me.”  
  
Zayn stares at him for a minute, nonplussed, and then something clicks. “Wait, you—?”  
  
It makes so much sense.  
  
“Yes,” Louis says dramatically, gesturing to the bartender for another drink. “Yes, I am deeply, truly, unrequitedly in love with Harry Styles. Laugh—hic—laugh if you wish, Zayn.”  
  
“M’not gonna laugh,” Zayn says dazedly. He wouldn’t believe Louis if it didn’t make so much sense. Louis’ melodramatic manner and state of intoxication suggests that he might be taking the piss, but somehow—somehow, Zayn doesn’t think so. This feels like the way Louis would make a confession of love (splendidly drunk, very self-pitying, dramatic as fuck), and now that he thinks—well, now that Zayn thinks, he realizes that Louis has always acted like a lovesick fool around Harry, and it—it just makes _so much sense_.  
  
“I knew you wouldn’t, my dear Malik,” Louis says, accepting the drink the bartender shoves at him. “Here, have a sip—y’don’t look—hic—you don’t look drunk enough.”  
  
“We’re supposed to be doing—”  
  
“Work, yes, I know, but how—hic—am I supposed t’focus with bloody Harry out there looking so damn pretty? When I am very pleasantly drunk, and you are my best friend?”  
  
Zayn’s not quite sure of what to think of that.  
  
“I have been in love with Haz since—God, I don’t know—since forever. And here y’are, perfectly willing to listen to me talk about how very fucking—hic—how very fucking beautiful our dear Hazza is. I knew you would listen.” Louis attempts to cuddle up to Zayn, but Zayn neatly sidesteps him. “You’re me best mate, y’know that?”  
  
“Yeah, and I’m a bloody saint for puttin’ up with this.”  
  
“Oh, I know you’ll listen—I know because you, my dear, befuddled, deep-in-denial Zayn Bear—you are the same way about a very certain Liam—hic—Payne.”  
  
Zayn stiffens. “All right, Tommo, y’ve had enough to drink yeah?” He steals the rest of Louis’ pint and promptly downs it, even though he’s more of a liquor person himself. “Leave me n’ Liam out of y’problems about Haz.”  
  
“Oh, sure, only—you, sir, you are deeply in love with Liam fucking Payne.”  
  
“Louis. Enough.”  
  
“I only speak the truth. You know what they say about drunk men.”  
  
Harry waltzes up to the pair of them with a dreamy smile before Zayn can jump Louis, and the pair of them have to force identical jolly smiles.  
  
“’ello, you lot. Got anything good?”  
  
“Not hardly,” Zayn says. _Other than the knowledge that Louis is deeply besotted with you_.  
  
“What a pity.” Harry suddenly stiffens when a remix of a Taylor Swift song starts blaring through the speakers and the lights on the floor turn purple. “Ah, lads, I love this song. I’ll be out dancin’ if y’need me, yeah?”  
  
“Wait, wait, waitwait,” Louis says, stumbling forward to cling to Harry’s arm. “C’mere, love, take me with you. I bloody love this song. Taco Swift is my favorite singer. Dance with me.”  
  
Harry looks deeply amused. “All right, love, let’s go dance, then.”  
  
“And I fuckin’ love you, Haz. We should get married or some shit. I’m serious here, now.”  
  
“Sure, sure, we’ll get married,” Harry says good-naturedly, and Zayn feels a twinge of pity for Louis as his face drops, realizing Harry isn’t about to take his declaration seriously.  
  
“Go out and dance, you two,” he says softly, “before y’song is done.”  
  
“Good thinking,” Louis says loudly, and drags Harry out on the dance floor without further ado.  
  
Zayn watches them slip drunkenly into each other’s embrace and can’t help but wonder if, at the right time, and the right place, and at the right stage of intoxication, he and Liam would do the same.  
  
Then he smacks himself in the face.  
  
“Fuck that, Malik,” he mutters. “Stop lettin’ Lous twist up your thoughts like that. You aren’t in bloody love with Liam.”  
  
He turns to the bartender. “I’ll have a cranberry and vodka.”  
  
“Coming right up.”  
  
She’s a pretty girl, with too much mascara and pouty lips; she looks like the sort of person that Zayn’s always been able to manipulate with the right amount of false confidence and too-smooth pick-up lines.  
  
“This place always this busy?”  
  
“Sure. The crows keep it busy, don’t they.”  
  
“The crows?”  
  
She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What, new around here?”  
  
He shrugs. “If you think so.”  
  
“The crows are the bunch that keep this place in business. Keep the trade running in the back and such. They might still have some good stuff, if you’re interested.”  
  
“Maybe later,” Zayn says. “So they’re like the local gang, then?”  
  
She smiles, like she knows he’s been around this block before, sliding his drink across the counter with a seductive wink. “If you think so. If you’re willing to do something for me, I might be able to tell you a little about them.”  
  
Ten thousand flashbacks crowd his head at once, and for a moment he thinks that he’s powers are going to come rushing out. He gets back in control a split second before a meltdown, and realizes, with a cold shiver, that he won’t be able to force any information out of this girl with his powers. If he even so much as touches that locked box in his head, everything will come spilling out, and everyone in this bar could end up dead. Including Louis and Harry.  
  
_Don’t let your issues affect the mission_. He has to get the info some other way. And if what he’s thinking is what she’s looking for, some secrets might spill easily.  
  
Well, he’s just glad it’s not one of the other boys that has to do this. At least this won’t be his first time whoring himself out for a price.  
  
He grins back then, sharp and precise and knowing. This game he knows how to play. “I think I might appreciate that, love. How much are y’looking for?”  
  
The bartender bites her lip and casually slips the neckline of her blouse off her shoulder. “I’m thinking all the way.”  
  
He doesn’t drown in the thought of Liam’s warm brown eyes and strong shoulders when her fingernails scrape against the back of his neck later, or suffocate himself with the image of Liam’s crinkle-eyed smile when she drags sticky, possessive hands down his back.  
  
_Get the information at any cost._  
  
Somewhere in between the whispered secrets she pants in his ear, he tells himself that he will figure this out if it kills him, that he will see this through no matter what, that he is not in _fucking love_ with Liam Payne.  
  
Somewhere in there, he tells himself a lie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ending though. Yikes. I've said it once, I'll say it again: this is a mess. Writing drunk Louis was quite a bit of fun, though, so I hope you enjoyed that at least (also you're welcome for the Larry).   
> Apologies for the last chapter again, and for the very dark content that snuck its way in here somehow. We'll get to fluff eventually, I promise. I'm just a huge sucker for angst.  
> Thanks to everyone who read and comment and left kudos! We hit 1k hits since the last chapter, which isn't a lot by some standards, but it's a pretty big deal for me tbh. So thanks again, and please keep showing me your love even though I updated a day later than I said I would. Keep doing you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy guys! So sorry i took this long; I'm low key going through a pretty rough time in terms of school and stuff, so I'm pretty busy (AP exams, ya feel?). So here is a not-very-long, not-very-edited chapter that's full of ridiculous hurt/comfort fluff. Take it as an apology guys.

Liam wakes up to the sound of throwing up. It’s not a good way to wake up, especially when it’s two AM (actually, it’s closer to three), especially when he knows it’s from drinking at the club, and _especially_ when he’s still a little bitter over not going the club, because he totally would have gotten work done, and not just drank the whole night and then thrown up, which is _apparently_ what whoever is throwing up did.  
  
Liam’s not at his best at three o’clock in the morning.  
  
And because he’s really pissed off at everything right now, he stumbles out of bed, fumbles with the light switch, and drags himself out into the hallway to go tell whoever’s throwing up to _shut the fuck up_ because some people are trying to fucking sleep.  
  
He’s expecting it to be Louis, honestly, because Louis (God bless him) is always the one to goof off a little, mainly because he tends to have a very short attention. Liam loves Louis. He really does. Just not when he’s throwing up very loudly at three AM.  
  
Instead, when Liam clumsily opens the bathroom door, it’s Zayn’s skinny figure that’s hunched over the toilet bowl, retching miserably.  
  
“Zayn, man, what the fuck,” Liam blurts out. “How much did you fucking drink? You were supposed to be working.”  
  
Zayn heaves into the toilet again and then sits back on his heels, eyes red and streaming from the gagging. “M’definitely not fuckin’ drunk enough for this shit.” He pushes the heel of his hand against his eyes almost angrily, trying to swipe away the tears. “S’isn’t from drinking, I don’t think.”  
  
Liam teeters between _well what’s from then_ and _well could you quiet down regardless_ and compromises on, “Where are Louis and Harry?”  
  
“In bed.” His voice is rough and scratchy. “They’re blacked out drunk.”  
  
“ _You were supposed to be working_ ,” Liam whisper-shouts, taking a step forward and immediately regretting it when Zayn flinches backwards, half-throwing up one arm like he’s expecting to be hit.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. And I got info, okay? But I just—” He breaks off and shakes his head, looking as though he might throw up again.  
  
“What the—” Liam’s honestly not prepared to deal with any of this. “Can you tell me what you know?”  
  
“Can I just wait until the morning when everyone’s up?” His voice is worn to a thread, and his eyes look red-rimmed under the fluorescent light of the bathroom.  
  
And because Zayn is basically Liam’s trump card, Liam softens a little. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, that’s fine.”  
  
“Okay.” He sinks back against the wall and closes his eyes, breath coming quick and shallow.  
  
“What happened?” Liam says after a minute.  
  
Zayn just makes a dismissive motion with his hand like it doesn’t matter. “It’s stupid. Go back t’bed, Leeyum.”  
  
Liam hovers near him for a minute, half turns to go back to his room, and then wheels around and grabs Zayn under the arms, hauling him to his feet. Zayn jolts a little with shock when Liam first touches him, but then just allows himself to be set on his feet without resistance.  
  
“Let’s get y’cleaned up,” Liam whispers, “and get changed, and then you can go to sleep, if you want, or I can make us tea, and we can watch _The Avengers_ on the sofa until the boys wake up. Does that sound good?”  
  
Zayn looks at him for a minute, as if he’s wondering whether Liam’s crazy or not, and then drops his head and mumbles, “How are you even real?”  
  
Liam bites down on the edges of the soft smile that’s curling up the corner of his lips. “Rinse out your mouth and take a shower, and I’ll get you joggers,” he says. “And a jumper, too.” _Because you’re always too cold, and I’m always too warm, and so I wear your Marvel T-shirts when you wear my sweaters, and sometimes (sometimes), I think we fit together too well._  
  
He pats Zayn on the shoulder, ruffles his hair, and steps towards the door. “Are y’done throwing up, do you think?”  
  
“Yeah, probably,” Zayn says tiredly.  
  
“Okay. Get in the shower.”  
  
Liam shuts the door and ducks across the hallway to Zayn’s room and pulls open the door. He’s hit with a wave of the smell of cigarette smoke; choking a little, he strides over to the window and yanks it open and then turns on the fan, scowling when he sees the crumpled empty pack on the floor (which he _knows_ was full this morning, and yeah, Zayn only smokes this much when he’s really upset). He scoops up a hoodie and a pair of joggers from the closet before closing the door and praying that the room with air out soon.  
  
The water’s running by the time he’s out, so he folds the clothes and leaves them outside the bathroom door. And no, he doesn’t stop and listen to see if Zayn’s humming in the shower, because that’s what Zayn does when he’s happy, because Liam definitely isn’t creepy like that at all. Not even a little bit.  
  
By the time Zayn comes stumbling out of the shower with wet hair, smelling of mint toothpaste (and Liam’s a little concerned because he’s always unsure of whether or not you’re supposed to brush your teeth after throwing up, but he trusts Zayn to know) and wearing the clothes Liam set out for him, Liam’s made two cups of the cocoa-cinnamon tea that he knows Zayn loves, and is stirring honey into Zayn’s.  
  
“You’re probably the best human being on this earth,” Zayn says, padding up behind him to cautiously hook his chin over Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s first instinct is to draw Zayn’s arms around his waist, but he stops himself when a tiny voice in his head whispers _careful, careful, he doesn’t want to be touched just yet_.  
  
“Not sure about the best,” Liam says, handing him the mug, “but maybe, like, the top ten.”  
  
Zayn just ducks his head and takes the mug, shifting from foot to foot nervously.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Yeah.” Zayn scrubs at his eyes. “Yeah, I think so.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Liam watches Zayn wrap his fingers around his mug for the heat. “I opened your window so the room can air out,” he says after a minute.  
  
“Sorry,” Zayn mumbles, “Should’ve done that.”  
  
“Your room, mate. But, like—what did you do, smoke the whole pack?”  
  
“I needed to breathe,” Zayn whispers miserably.  
  
And Liam’s still not quite sure what’s going on here, or what happened, or what that even meant, but he is going to do his damnedest to make sure that Zayn is going to be all right. Because fuck if he deserves any of this.  
  
“I’m sure it’ll air out pretty quick, yeah? Just enough time for us to drink our tea and watch a film and then we can go to bed. Here—lemme grab some blankets, cause you’re probably cold—and then we can go to the sofa.”  
  
He bustles around the living room, collecting all the blankets he can find, and then walks back over to Zayn and drapes about three of them around his shoulders. “Ready for Avengers?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
But Zayn is noticeably quiet as Liam pops in the DVD and makes sure that volume is down low enough to not wake the boys.  
  
“Y’sure you want to watch?” Liam tucks a blanket around the older boy and very carefully ruffles his hair. “We don’t have to, y’know.”  
v “No, no, I—I’m just, like—thinking.”  
“S’that so?”  
  
“Yeah.” Zayn stares into the depths of his tea mug. “And, like, I dunno what I did to deserve you.”  
  
Liam freezes.  
  
Zayn takes a deep breath. “Dunno, like—must’ve been the best thing I ever did, right? Cause like, you—you’re so—sometimes I think that—” He breaks off and shakes his head. “I’m talkin rubbish, mate, sorry. Forget it.”  
  
Liam wants nothing more than to insist he go on, but he knows he can’t push it right now. “Okay, well—if you want to talk, though, I want to listen.”  
  
“See, this is what I mean, you’re fucking incredible, and I just—” He suddenly slumps, as if drained of energy by the effort of trying to vocalize himself. “Sorry.”  
  
Liam quietly sits down and wraps an arm around him. Zayn tenses up for a second, but then allows the contact (Liam does not feel a tiny burst of triumph at all).  
  
“I fucking love you, Zayn.”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn whispers, “I know.”  
  
And Liam’s not sure whether the hesitancy in his voice means but _I don’t deserve it_ or _it’s not enough_ or something else, but all he wants is to hold Zayn. Something in Liam’s chest splinters at the thought of Zayn believing that he’s not deserving of kindness, even when it’s something as simple as what Liam’s doing now. _Please believe me when I say you deserve everything._  
  
“Zayn, babe, c’mere.” Liam pulls Zayn a little closer; Zayn relaxes into his arms after a moment of hesitance. Liam searches for the words that will fix him, searches for any words at all, and (as always) finds himself utterly tongue tied. “I—fuck. You know I’m not—not good with words, not like you, yeah? But I’m—I’m trying to—yeah. All right.” He looks down, to where their legs are pressed side to side on the sofa, and shakes his head. Nothing he says is going to come out right—it never does, especially around Zayn. “Let’s just watch the movie.”  
  
Zayn curls up under his arm and nods.  
  
They get to the scene where Natasha and Loki are talking before Zayn speaks again. Liam barely notices at first, is too wrapped up in the plot and the haze of exhaustion clouding his vision to hear Zayn’s tired, scratchy voice over the music.  
  
“Liam.”  
  
“Huh?” He jolts a little. “Sorry, babe, what is it?”  
  
“Were you asleep?” Zayn looks immeasurably guilty. “It doesn’t matter if y’were asleep.”  
  
“Nope, not asleep. M’all ears.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Zayn says softly, eyes huge and dark and full of light from the telly screen. “It can wait.”  
  
“Absolutely sure, Zaynie.”  
  
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Just—tonight, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” Liam reaches over and turns down the sound on the television.  
  
“I dunno, so much shit happened tonight—did you know that Louis is in fucking love with Harry? Shit, I shouldn’t have told—I’m a fucking terrible best mate—but he got drunk and told me—danced with Harry and got jealous—I dunno. That’s not what I meant to say, yeah? But they were off drunk together, and I had to get the info, y’know, and I—” he swallowed visibly, like he’s fighting off another wave of sickness, and whatever tiredness Liam had before is instantly dispelled. “I started chatting up the bar tender, yeah?”  
  
Liam gulps down something hot and painful that’s collecting his throat. _Let him finish_.  
  
“And it was obvious she knew some shit about the place, and that she was into me, so I—I fucked her. And she gave me the info.” Zayn gives a tiny shake of his head. “I must still be fucking buzzed or something, I should stop talking, I’m sorry—you shouldn’t have to listen to this shit—”  
  
“Well,” Liam says steadily, “y’can’t start a story without finishing it, babe.”  
  
“I—okay.” Zayn clasps his hands in his lap, and his shoulders are tense under Liam’s arm. “And this is fucking stupid, okay? But I feel like—” His shoulders shake, once and violently, a silent sob of exhaustion and guilt. “I feel like I’m fucking sixteen and on the streets again,” he whispers, “and, like—yeah. That’s what it felt like. And it made me sick. That’s all that was earlier.”  
  
Liam rubs his hand up and down Zayn’s arm comfortingly. “You know no one would’ve been angry if you’d come back with no info, though, right? None of us expect you to do something like that, babe.”  
  
“I know—I know. But I felt like—I felt like after what Simon said about having to do the job right, I had to—live up to him or some shit, and that felt like the only way. And, like, I—it feels almost worse that it worked?” He’s shaking under Liam’s arm, cracking under the pressure of opening up, and Liam thinks he’s never seen anything braver than Zayn trying to give Liam a part of himself despite the fact of Zayn being the most closed person he knows, despite the fact that Liam knows this is hurting Zayn, despite the fact that Zayn is so, so afraid of being hurt like he’s been his whole life. “It feels like—like that’s all I’m good for.”  
  
_Babe, Zayn, love, no. Not in a million years. You’re the best person I know. You deserve so much more than this._  
  
“And I know—I know that’s not true? At least, I think I know that now. I don’t think that anymore.” Zayn raises his chin a little defiantly. “But that’s what it fucking felt like, and it made me sick, and I felt like there was so much to live up to that I couldn’t do because of all my fucking issues—” the word is etched in sharp finger quotations, like Zayn can’t think of a better label and so is forced to use Simon’s scathing one “—and it feels even worse that I’m upset over it, because I shouldn’t be, because big fucking deal, I got a girl laid, but—but it feels so much worse than that, Leeyum. And it feels like I shouldn’t be telling y’this shit, yeah? You probably don’t want to deal with this, and I—no matter what I do it feels worse.” He takes a deep shuddering breath. “Except—you make it feel better. I dunno why. But you do.”  
  
Liam’s not quite sure what to say for a moment. There’s a million things he wants to say that he’s not sure he has to words for, a million more that he’s not sure there even are words for. Somehow, he gets out, “Zayn, man, I dunno, but I can fucking tell you that you’re a fucking incredible person, you’re probably the strongest person I know, and you’ve been through so much shit, but you’re still fucking amazing, and I—you deserve so many things, babe, and you’re good for so many things, and don’t you ever, ever—don’t fucking say you’re only good for this. Because you’re not.”  
  
“I know, just—”  
  
“No, listen. You don’t have to ever feel like you shouldn’t tell me something or that I don’t wanna hear it, yeah? You’re—you’re one of me best mates, and I’ll fucking listen to whatever you wanna tell me. And next time we call up Simon, I’ll fucking kill him for making you think that you had to do something you didn’t. None of this matters if—if you’re not okay.”  
  
And it sounds an awful lot like _I’d tear the world apart and put it back to together if it made you happy_ , but Liam tries to ignore that.  
  
“And just, like—I love you, mate. I don’t care if you’ve got issues, or whatever. I’ve got your back, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles.  
  
“Okay.” Liam feels like there are a million other things he has to say, but he bites them down in lieu of pushing it too far.  
  
Zayn’s quiet a moment, and then sniffles, “Sorry for waking you up.”  
  
“I’m glad you did.”  
  
There’s a fragile silence while the movie finishes in silence, and even though they don’t talk again, it feels like hours before either of them fall asleep.

  


“Zayn, mate, wake up. Wake the _fuck up_ , mate.”  
  
“Wassup?” he mumbles, rolling into the solid warmth next to him (which smells a lot like Liam, but Zayn’s not thinking about that right now, nope).  
  
“Wake the fuck up, you piece of shit best mate.”  
  
And Louis sounds really urgent, so Zayn cracks open his eyes to let in a blurry sliver of light and one blood-shot blue eye.  
  
“What y’need?” he slurs, pushing himself up on one arm, and—oh. That really is Liam lying next to him, one arm casually slung over Zayn’s chest to pull him back into Liam’s chest. Fuck Louis, honestly, for waking him up like this.  
  
“ _Where’s the Ibuprofen_?”  
  
“You woke me up,” Zayn says slowly, “to ask me where the fuck the Ibuprofen is?”  
  
“Yes! I can’t find it.”  
  
“I was sleeping.” He groans and carefully pushes Liam’s arm off of him, shoving a pillow into the other boy’s arms instead. “Because I was fucking tired after hauling your drunk asses home last nigh—” he stops and gulps, the events of last night flooding back to him in vivid, sickening detail “—last night.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yell at me later, but me head is about to split open and spill brains all over the carpet and then how would you feel?”  
  
So Zayn stumbles off the sofa to blearily rummage through the kitchen cabinets for a shitty pill for his shitty best mate. And because Louis’ a piece of shit, and Zayn loves him, he pours a glass of water and sits down with him at the kitchen table while he takes the medicine.  
  
“All right?”  
  
Louis snorts, rubbing his temples. “Well, I’m not puking anymore, so, that’s a good thing.”  
  
Zayn pulls him another glass and then sits back down, handing it to him with a sympathetic grimace.  
  
“How come you’re on the couch with Payno?”  
  
Zayn just shakes his head.  
  
“Okay—do you know where the other two are?”  
  
“In their beds, probably.”  
  
“God, I—” Louis winces and looks away swiftly. “You remember anything about last night, then?”  
  
He arches an eyebrow. “All of it. Sadly.”  
  
“D’you think Harry remembers anything?”  
  
“No idea. He wasn’t quite as plastered as you were, so if you remember, he probably does.”  
  
Louis groans. “I said a lot of shit last night, didn’t I?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Couldn’t have broke it to me a little easier?” He lets out a nervous-sounding laugh, hands jittering around the table.  
  
Zayn shrugs.  
  
“Fuck.” Louis falls silent and stares off into the distance, jaw working visibly. “I mean, I didn’t mean any of that shit. I was out me mind last night. Said all kinds of shit I didn’t mean.”  
  
Zayn looks at him steadily. “If you say so.”  
  
“Haz probably didn’t take me seriously, right? I mean—I wouldn’t want him to think—wouldn’t want to ruin what we’ve got—”  
  
_And that means you love him_. “I know.”  
  
Louis looks at him, nervous hands falling still in his lap as the corner of his mouth quirks upward. Zayn shrugs again.  
  
“I know you know,” Louis says softly, and Zayn tries his hardest not to look at the sofa where Liam’s still sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was that. Um, I can't promise the next chapter very soon? Just cause of school and stuff (speaking of which, does anyone have any tips for dealing with panic attacks?). But I hope you liked this one. I will try to work on the next chapter. And thanks for your lovely comments guys! They make me feel like sunshine and high fives and getting winged eyeliner perfect on the first try. If you've commented more than once, I definitely have your username memorized (in, like, a non-creepy way) and think of you when I'm writing. No lie.  
> Okay. Peace out. Thanks for reading/commenting/leaving kudos. Love you all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I know I haven't updated in a while, so I'm sorry this is overdue. So even though it's barely edited, and 90% of it was written in a five hour writing binge today, it's here. Yay me. I found time to do this between my birthday, and getting ready for my AP test, and living through hell, basically. But I did it!  
> Trigger warning for violence I guess? Idk, just watch out.  
> Aaaand thank you to all the lovely people who have read and commented and left kudos so far, especially the people who gave me advice in the comments last chapter! You all are the most beautiful people in the world and I love you all.   
> More rambling at the end of the chapter. All usual disclaimers apply.

So, like, Liam’s kind of stuck right now. More specifically, he’s stuck against a wall, chest heaving, trying to figure out if the footsteps around the corner are coming towards him or away from him.  
  
He’s actually really fucked, and there’s no one to call to for help.  
  
Okay: backtrack. The real reason he’s here is the info Zayn had gotten from the girl at the club. It may also be because Liam is a proud piece of shit who has the eternal desire to prove himself.  
  
Basically, what happened is this: the girl had told Zayn the gang was going through a leadership change. “Someone really dangerous and powerful,” according to Zayn, though he’d said it with rolled eyes and the assurance to take it with a grain of salt. That’s why the Walsons had been committing those murders—they’d been taking out people who had known the new leader before he’d gone into the criminal life. And if they wanted to get a glimpse of this new leader—well, the girl had said, he was going to be in the office building they’d raided before on Monday. A meeting of sorts, she’d said.  
  
So, with Simon’s reluctant permission, and Zayn’s promise that they wouldn’t pursue it if it didn’t seem to be something out of the ordinary, they’d taken on the mission.  
  
And right from the minute they’d started to plan it, it’d been a disaster.  
  
First, Louis—usually great at planning and always on board for a mission—was sulky and out of sorts (especially around Harry, which didn’t make sense to Liam, if he correctly remembered what Zayn had told him in the dead of night as _The Avengers_ played in the background). Then Harry had started to get belligerent too, which was terribly unlike Harry, and that had affected everyone else’s good mood. Oh, and Zayn had been more closed off than usual, too, which wasn’t good, either, and Liam had been getting that panicky feeling he sometimes got more and more often, until Niall threw up his hands in disgust, said he felt like the only sane one in the house, and escaped to the gym.  
  
They were all pretty unclear what they were even supposed to be doing during this mission, anyway—were they supposed to take someone out? Just get info?—until Simon snapped after one too many calls and told them they could do what they damn pleased, and hung up. So they decided it would be an info run only, but that they would try and take out the new leader if it became apparent that he was dangerous.  
  
(It’s around this time that Liam wishes—not for the first time—that they were a little more like the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and less like a couple of confused lads with a few second-rate guns and an irritable boss who usually had less of a clue what to do than they did).  
  
And finally, the night before the mission, Liam heard Louis and Zayn talking. At first it was nothing special, just a few thrown-around comments about the next day, a joke about getting some weed afterwards to celebrate, and a casual _if I die, tell the lads they’re all dicks_ that’s a joke between the two older boys but just makes Liam’s throat tighten, and then—  
  
“How’re we gonna split up, then?”  
  
“You mean tomorrow?”  
  
“No, fuckwad, I mean next week when we’re having the tea party.”  
  
Liam could practically hear Zayn rolling his eyes. “I don’t really care how we do it, Lou.”  
  
“Well, I—”  
  
There’s a short pause, and then Zayn says, “Niall’ll probably be on his own, right?”  
  
“S’pose so.”  
  
“All right—you can have Harry, then, cause I know—”  
  
But Liam hadn’t caught the rest of it, because _you can have Harry_ was branded in his brain like a fucking sign that blares _you’re not good enough_ and _no one wants you with them_ and _you’re pretty useless_. And it hurt. It hurt.  
  
It fucking hurt, and Liam sort of hated himself for letting it hurt, and so he just went to his room and sat on the bed and tried not to think of Zayn letting Louis have Harry even though Harry was obviously the better choice, even though having Liam with him would probably be a liability the next day.  
  
And so when they finally got in the building on Monday, Liam ditched Zayn the first chance he got.  
  
Which meant that when Harry got recognized, and entire building went up in arms looking for the five of them, Liam was on his own.  
  
Which means that now, Liam is backed against a wall, clutching a gun that’s supposed to be able to save him, or something. It’s kind of hard to believe that when there’s a very large, very angry man who may or may not be coming around the corner in a few minutes, who is very, very intent on killing him.  
  
Yeah, he’s so fucking screwed.  
  
But he’s got his military training, for what little it’s worth, and he’s got fairly decent gun skills, and he’s got his common sense and brute strength, so despite the sick hammering of his heart in his throat, Liam genuinely thinks that he’s probably gonna make it out of this one alive. He has four fucking real live _superheroes_ on his side, for God’s sake. There’s no way that this can turn out badly, right? _Right?_  
  
_If I get out of this one alive_ , Liam thinks, _I swear to God I’ll be—I dunno—better from now on. I’ll be a fucking saint. I’ll tell the boys I love them every day_ —there’s a sharp gunshot and a triumphant Irish crow of relief from a few hallways over, and Liam grins. He’s saved—no, wait, there’s still the man around the corner, the owner of the wet heavy breath and loud footsteps. Liam can’t call out to Niall for help quite yet—the other boy wouldn’t be able to make it in time, no matter how tempting the option is. For now, he’s on his own.  
  
_It’s okay, you can deal with one guy. Even if you don’t have superpowers, you can definitely deal with one guy. You’ve got this._ He spends a few precious seconds pumping himself up and listening to the footsteps coming around the corner, and then—the man’s in his face, drawing his gun, smashing the heavy side of his fist into Liam’s jaw—but Liam’s just as quick, and he’s already scrabbling for his gun, pointing it out wildly, aiming lower than he needs to, really, because he never had a heart for killing—dodging the next blow, this time delivered with the butt of the gun (and he never thought he’d be so grateful to his bullies back in Wolverhampton, for teaching him how to properly duck a punch, the hard way)—and then there’s a red-and-white explosion somewhere below the man’s waist, and Liam’s shirt is spattered with a spray of blood, and the gangster is moaning on the floor with a shattered kneecap.  
  
For a single moment, Liam just stares at him, and the man snarls back up at him, but then Liam’s off running in the direction he’d heard Niall shout from, hands shaking with adrenaline and the relief of escape.  
  
And then—  
  
“ONE OVER HERE! I’VE GOT ONE OVER HERE! HEADING TOWARDS THE WEST ENTRANCE! HE GOT ME IN THE LEG, GET AFTER HIM!”  
  
Liam never thought it was possible to scream louder than Louis, but the man he’d left on the floor has a set of lungs that could put a werewolf to shame. He swears under his breath, because God knows he’ll have a veritable mob on his tail now, remembering that he’d broken the first rule of taking out an enemy: _never let them call for help_.  
  
“Well, there’s nothing I can do now,” he mumbles, hoping that at the very least the man would have caught the attention of the boys. “And why the _fuck_ is my earpiece not working?”  
It’s enough to send chills through him, because unless he finds a place where he can stop to use his phone, he’s got no means of communication with the boys—no way to call for help. _No time for thinking. Just run, Payno_ , a voice that sounds a bit like Louis at his most practical tells him. And for once, Louis’ advice is fairly sound, so Liam does his best to follow it.  
  
Of course, that gets a little hard to do after the first bullet hits him  
  
It’s a flesh wound, he can tell by the way it throbs immediately after the impact rather than going numb for a minute, but it’s enough to make him stumble and cry out, a stream of _fuckfuckfuckfuck this is not how I want to die_ running through his head, along with the cool thought that that particular stream of consciousness isn’t particularly a very dignified one to have as his last. And then he refuses to acknowledge that thought at all, because even if he’s been shot, even if he’s dropped his gun because his fingers have gone numb under his wounded right shoulder, even if all he can do at this point is run, this is not going to be the end. He’s going to die an old man, with the thought of beautiful things like gardens and rainbows and Zayn’s eyes in his mind. Not shot down like a fugitive and laid to rest in a secretive, blood-soaked grave where his family will never know where to visit. And fuck, thinking too much has always been Liam’s problem, even when _he’s literally been fucking shot_ —  
  
The second bullet hits his shoulder blade, and this time the area of impact goes completely numb, and all he can feel is the sensation that someone has punched him in the back, really hard, but there’s no pain— _shit, shit, fuck, no_ —he falls on his front this time, the pain— _fuck, God, the pain_ —of hitting the ground, combined with what feels like two rather significant explosions going on in the area of his right shoulder, making him sob desperately.  
  
Then there’s the heavy weight of someone’s body on his back, shoving his face into the dusty carpet, grinding the heel of their hand into the wounds on his shoulder (he chokes out a muffled cry against the carpet at that, gritting his teeth against a scream) and slamming the butt of a gun into the back of his head—everything goes soft and fuzzy for a second—he feels like he’s floating before the sharp pain brings him back down, and then he’s bucking and squirming under the man on his back with all his fading strength.  
  
_Fuck, Niall, where are you?_  
  
He feels himself go limp, and someone far, far, above him is screaming his name—but it’s so warm in the prickly darkness that Liam’s falling into . . .  
  
“ _LIAM!_ ”  
  
Someone rolls him over with the gentlest arms that have ever touched Liam, carefully patting his bloodied cheek, shaking his shoulder (Liam almost pulls himself out of the darkness at the apocalypse of pain that comes with that), and a voice is begging, “Liam, babe, please, babe, Liam, _Leeyum_ , oh my God, please don’t be dead, please say something, please say something babe, Leeyum, _please_ —”  
  
“M’not dead,” Liam manages to mumble, hauling open his eyes to see a blurry face above him, sliding in and out of various layers of unfocus. “M’just . . . sleeping, like.”  
  
The person lets out a hysterical laugh. “Sleeping—he says sleeping—Lou? You there? He’s alive, says he’s fucking sleeping—yeah, I know. Get Niall to come over here, yeah? Can’t pick ‘im up right now.” There’s a short pause. “Yeah, course I’m staying here with him—make sure no one else is lurking round here. Tell Niall to be careful.”  
  
“Zayn?”  
  
A bony arm slides around his shoulders, carefully helping him sit up; Liam groans and grabs blindly at his other arm to steady himself, and the other person hisses out a sharp breath.  
  
“Zayn? S’you, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s me, babe,” Zayn says, voice strained but incredibly gentle. “Niall’s coming over here to pick you up in a minute. You’re gonna be fine, yeah? I’ve got you.”  
  
“You’ve got me,” Liam slurs back, clutching Zayn’s arm a little tighter and feeling him tense. “Are y’okay?”  
  
“Don’t worry about me right now, Leeyum, just—we’re gonna be good, yeah? I’m good, you’ll be good—it’s gonna be fine, yeah?”  
  
“I trust you,” Liam says, and that he really wants Zayn to know, more than anything else right now. “I trust you, Zayn.”  
  
He thinks that he passes out for a bit, because the next thing he knows, he’s being lifted up off the ground by a pair of arms that can only belong to Niall.  
  
“We’ve got to go,” Niall’s saying, urgent but quiet. “Haz thinks they’ve called in reinforcements.”  
  
“I hear you,” Zayn says. “Is he good to go?”  
  
“Yeah. Good y’self?”  
  
“I’ll make it home.”  
  
“Brilliant.” There’s a careful balance between casual almost-professionalism and aching concern in Niall’s voice, like he knows everything will be all right but can’t help but worrying that it won’t. Liam knows the feeling. “Simon’s already called Paul and Eleanor; they should be getting to the apartment as we stand here chattin’.”  
  
“Sick.” There’s a painful exhale in Zayn’s voice. “Let’s go, then.”  
  
Liam’s vision is still so blurry . . . he hopes everyone else is all right . . .

  


“He’ll be okay, then?”  
  
“He’ll be fine,” Paul grunts, tying off the splint with a grunt. “How you got through me fixing you up like that without gettin’ wanting to be put to sleep is a mystery. As always.”  
  
Zayn offers a wry grin. “You know me. A fucking enigma.”  
  
“Language.”  
  
“Sorry. It’s a high pain threshold, is what it is.”  
  
“Highest bloody pain threshold I’ve ever seen, then.” Paul gives Zayn’s splint a careful pat. “You’re good to go, son. Eleanor’s just finishing up with Liam now.”  
  
“Brilliant. You’re the fuckin’ best, Paul.”  
  
“ _Language_ ,” Paul says gruffly. “And don’t thank me. You know I just do it—”  
  
“—because you owe Simon your life, yeah. But also cause you love us.”  
  
“And cause you’re my favorite,” Paul sighs. “But don’t let Louis hear you say that.”  
  
Zayn grins and hops down from the stool. Paul, despite his affected gruffness and bulging muscles, is a softie at heart. And yeah, Zayn may also love him cause he is Paul’s favorite. Paul’s been coming around since Zayn was seventeen and undernourished and having terrifying nightmares every night, using his gift of putting people into a dreamless sleep to help Zayn recover from the horrors of the streets. And somewhere along the way, he’s developed a fondness for them all, become their unofficial go-to doctor when it’d be too hard to explain the situation to a doctor. Even though Paul’s never really had any real training in medicine, he knows some tips and tricks, and his ability to put his patients out for hours helps with the worst of the pain (and yeah, ever since he’d started working with Eleanor, a medical school dropout with an open mind, though no special abilities, his operations have been going much more smoothly).  
  
“Can I go see Li now?”  
  
“ _No_. Go sit with the boys and explain what happened to your boss before he bursts a blood vessel.”  
  
“But I don’t know what happened! Liam just fucking ran off by himself when he was supposed to be with me, and I was too distracted to go after him—” Zayn breaks off, managing to squash the whisper of _it’s your fault, you should’ve gone after him no matter what_ that’s playing in the back of his head. “It’s not like Liam, s’all,” he says quietly. “Usually Li’s the first one to stick to the plan. Hell, he’s usually the first one to come up with the bloody plan.”  
  
“Well, go out there anyway before you find some way to twist it so you think it’s your fault.” Paul brandishes an admonishing finger in Zayn’s face when he rolls his eyes. “That’s what you were doing just now, don’t lie. I know you, son.”  
  
“Oh, you know me, do ya? What’s my favorite color, then?”  
  
“Black,” Paul says drily, “just like your heart. Run off, now.”  
  
“Heeey,” Zayn whines, drawing it out in a fair imitation of Harry.  
  
“You know I’m taking your mickey, son. Y’got the biggest bloody heart I’ve ever seen in a person, superhero or no bloody superhero.” He pauses. “Shit past or no fucking shit past. I mean it, Zayn.”  
  
Zayn ducks his head. “Thanks.” And then, because he’s not quite sure what else to say, he tacks on a mischievous, “ _Language_ , Paul.”  
  
“Oi, shuddup. Get out there.”  
  
Zayn leaves the bathroom grinning despite the weight of worry about Liam still resting on his chest.  
  
“So what kind of info do we have?” he says, joining the boys on the sofa where they’re huddled in front of a laptop, skyping Simon.  
  
“They know who you are, most likely. I’m running more background checks on this mysterious leader bloke as we speak, so to see what we’re up against.”  
  
“Do we have anything so far?”  
  
Simon’s brows pinch together. “So far, no.”  
  
“Okay . . .”  
  
“And the whole of that bloody gang is probably out for the five of you now.”  
  
“Oh, great.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.”  
  
“Is that it?”  
  
Simon makes a frustrated noise. “Unfortunately so. As far as missions go, this one was an utter failure. No useful info, they know what you look like, and probably your names, too. An utter failure.”  
  
“Well, that’s lovely,” Louis says brightly, “but don’t forget the part where one of us got his arm brutally broken, and another one of us got shot twice in the fucking shoulder. Don’t forget to add that to the list of why this was an utter fucking failure.”  
  
“Do you think that the waitress set you up?”  
  
Zayn swallows down a mouthful of burning guilt. “I dunno. Maybe.”  
  
“Don’t you dare put this one on Zayn, Simon,” Niall says fiercely. “Y’can’t pull that shit on him twice.”  
  
“I’m not,” Simon says, nettled. “I was merely asking.”  
  
“Well, stop askin’.”  
  
There’s a tense silence. Paul comes out of the bathroom, drying his hands on his pants.  
  
“Is Eleanor out yet, then?”  
  
“Not quite,” Eleanor calls from Liam’s bedroom. “Give me another fifteen minutes or so. You can leave without me, if you want.”  
  
“Nah, I’ll stay.” He sits down in the living, nodding to the boys and raising a hand in greeting to Simon.  
  
“Well, I suppose that’ll be all, then.” Simon looks tired and angry. “Tell me how Liam’s doing after he wakes up. I’ll call you if I get anything.”  
  
“Same here,” Harry says, reaching over to end the skype call. “See you later, Simon.”

  


Liam wakes up slowly. His shoulder is throbbing, and even breathing is a little difficult, but he’s awake.  
  
“Hey, you’re up.”  
  
He jolts a little at the unfamiliar voice; he’d been expecting one of the boys to be with him when he woke. But it’s just Eleanor, Paul’s assistant, and he trusts her almost as much as he trusts Simon.  
  
“Guess so.” His voice is scratchy.  
  
She hands him a glass of water. “That was pretty quick. I just finished sewing you up about half an hour ago. Y’head all right?”  
  
“I’ve had worse hangovers,” he jokes.  
  
“If you go out with Louis a lot, I’ll bet,” she says drily. Liam is suddenly reminded of the fact that she’d crushed on Louis wildly for two years for giving it up for a bloke named Max; he thinks she still holds it against Louis, though, a bit. He’s not quite sure why Louis never got around to telling her he was gay. Or maybe he did, and she just didn’t care. Or maybe— _thinking too much again. Got to stop that_.  
  
“Well, he’s always been a little wilder than me.” He puts down the drained glass of water on the bedside table. He feels surprisingly good for someone who’s just been shot. “Thanks for patching me up, Eleanor. Are the lads all right?”  
  
“Yeah. Zayn broke his arm—well, I think someone broke it for him, but—you know what I mean. Paul set it, put it in a splint. It’s nothing too serious.”  
  
There’s an incredulous shout from outside— _what do you mean, he didn’t put you out, what the fuck, mate_ —and Eleanor rolls her eyes. “They better be quiet. Silence and rest are the best doctors, and all that.”  
  
“Erm—yeah, suppose so.” He hears Louis yell _my fuckin’ man, Malik—fucking ace lad right here. Best sort of bloke, Zayn is_ , and this time rolls his eyes in unison with Eleanor.  
  
“Well, I’ll be off. Paul’s waiting to go home. You know my number if you have a setback. I’ll call in a couple of days to check on you idiots.”  
  
“Yeah, all right. Thanks again.”  
  
She nods, gives him a warm smile, and scoops a first aid kit and a slightly more menacing metal case she calls her surgeon’s kit into her purse. “Get better soon, you wanker.”  
  
And then she’s off in a grand cloud of flowery perfume and fashionista curls.  
  
“Oi, he’s up, isn’t he,” he hears her say in the next room. “Y’can go in there— _quietly_ , Tomlinson—and talk to him. No more than ten minutes. Harry, I’m counting on you to keep him in check.”  
  
“What, not me?” Niall says in mock-heartbreak.  
  
“Of course not you, you Irish idiot. Be quiet when you go in there.” A slight pause. “Okay. I’m off. Ready, Paul? Oh, and get better soon, Zayn. Be careful with yourself. _Get people to knock you out when they’re setting your bones, you fucking idiot._ ”  
  
“I just wanted to be up when he woke up,” Zayn mumbles, like that’s a legitimate reason at all.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re in fucking love with Liam. Go in there on coo over his thick skull. Let’s go, Paul.”  
  
There’s a short silence after the door slams, and then Liam hears Niall say, almost in wonder, “She’s so bloody _mean_.”  
  
“You fucking love her, though,” Louis says carelessly, and then bounds around the corner of door and hurtles over to hug Liam in total disregard of Harry’s shout of “Careful!”  
  
“You, my love,” Louis says, pulling back and frowning down at Liam, “are in deep, deep, shit.”  
  
“Oi, let him wake up proper before you kill him, yeah?” Niall says.  
  
“Sure, sure.” He turns back to Liam. “You’re a bloody idiot.”  
  
Liam rubs the back of his head sheepishly and then winces when his fingers skim over a massive lump. “Yeah, I know. Only’ve been told that about twenty times since I woke by Eleanor, haven’t I.”  
  
“Good. You deserve it.” Louis looks like he’s about to say more, but Harry brushes him aside and gently pats Liam on top of the head in lieu of a hug.  
  
“You feeling all right?”  
  
“Yeah, fine,” Liam says. “Got a bit of a headache. M’shoulder still hurts some. But I’m alive.”  
  
His eyes sweep up to the doorway and find Zayn standing there, leaning against the doorframe with his arm in a sling. Zayn gives him a wry grin, but Liam can see the relief written all over his face.  
  
“Aren’t ya gonna come in, then?” Liam teases.  
  
“Nah, I’m good. Don’t like any of you donuts, anyway.” He stumbles over to Liam’s other side and awkwardly pats his hand with his unbroken arm. “This lot’s probably what gave you the headache, face it.”  
  
“It’s true,” Louis says cheerfully. “Love you, Li.” Then his face darkens. “Now why don’t you tell us why you ran off on Zayn in the middle of a mission when it was critical to stay together?”  
  
“Give him a break for a second,” Zayn frowns. “He just woke up. And he’s _hurt_.”  
  
Louis hands flare up in blue for a moment, and it’s only then that Liam realizes that behind their bright façade, all the boys are tired and worried and stressed, and he feels incredibly guilty.  
  
“No, he’s right,” he says. “You lads deserve to know. I probably really fucked up the mission, didn’t I?”  
  
There’s a short pause, and then Harry says, “Well—nooo,” and Liam knows that he’s really gone and screwed up this time.  
  
“M’sorry,” he mumbles. “Just, like, I wanted—I wanted to—fuck, I dunno. It all seems so stupid now.” Mainly he just really doesn’t relish the idea of having to blurt out his shame and hurt at being the weak link that no one wants to have with them on a mission to all of the boys at once. “I just—maybe later, yeah? Sort of feel sick.”  
  
And it’s not a lie, exactly, because he does feel sick (partially because of the burn of guilt that’s stretching open his throat right now) but it’s certainly not why he doesn’t want to talk to the boys.  
  
It makes it worse when even Louis is understanding, when they all get up and rowdily traipse out to make him tea and start cooking dinner. Liam can’t remember the exact time when he last felt this shitty. Even a panic attack doesn’t feel quite this bad.

  


Zayn brings Liam tea a few hours later. It hurts just as much as a broken arm to see Liam injured and pale and bed bound, but it also makes Zayn strangely protective of him. Also, Zayn kind of feels like shit, because if he’d just been a little bit faster, Liam wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all.  
  
“All right if I come in?”  
  
“Yeah, course.” Liam’s staring at the ceiling, face drawn and quiet.  
  
“Thanks. Brought you tea,” he says with a crooked smile, “to pay you back for the other night.”  
  
_The night after the club_ , he thinks but doesn’t say, and then wonders if Liam will know what he means at all.  
  
“I was just being a friend,” Liam says, “s’what mates do for each other, innit.”  
  
Zayn’s throat feels a little painfully tight. “Yeah, I guess so.” He sets down the tea. “All right if I stay a bit? Harry and Louis are being disgustingly domestic. I’ve got a book, so I won’t be bothering you, don’t worry.”  
  
“You never bother me,” Liam says, half under his breath. And then, louder: “What’re you reading?”  
  
Zayn ducks his head a little, showing Liam the cover. “Poetry.” He looks up to gauge Liam’s reaction. “I know it’s dumb.”  
  
“No—it’s—it’s sort of brilliant, actually,” Liam says, looking at him with a strange expression on his face. If Zayn didn’t know better, he’d say it was awe. “Read me one? If you don’t mind.”  
  
“I don’t mind.” He opens it up to the page he’d marked. “This one’s my favorite, yeah?  
  
i have found what you are like  
the rain,

(Who feathers frightened fields  
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind  
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light  
with thinned

newfragile yellows

lurch and.press

—in the woods  
which  
stutter  
and

sing  
And the coolness of your smile is  
stirringofbirds between my arms;but  
i should rather than anything  
have(almost when hugeness will shut  
quietly)almost,  
your kiss.”  
  
When he looks back up, Liam has his eyes closed, and for a moment Zayn wonders if he’d put him to sleep. Then Liam says, very quietly, “That’s sort of beautiful, yeah?” He opens one eye. “I mean, I don’t think I understood it at, like, all, but it—it was sort of—yeah. I liked it. What’s it called?”  
  
“ _I Have Found What You Are Like_ ,” Zayn says, “by e.e. cummings. He’s sort of brilliant. Writes loads of sick stuff. This one’s my favorite, though.”  
  
“Why’d’you like him so much?”  
  
“His stuff’s really calming, innit? That what I just read you—I mean, you closed your eyes. It’s like—I dunno. It’s comforting. Just like, the thought of finding someone who’s like that for you? Someone you’d rather have, more than anything else? Dunno.”  
  
He half wants to say _it’s better than the poets that write about family or about being safe or whole because I never got any of that_ but he doesn’t because he thinks it’d make him look pathetic.  
  
“Yeah,” Liam says. “I guess it is.”  
  
There’s something off in his tone, though, but Zayn doesn’t push it.  
  
“Zayn.”  
  
“Yeah, babe?”  
  
“I’m sorry about today.”  
  
Zayn looks at him gently. Liam has his eyes fixed stubbornly on the blanket and there’s a high flush in his cheeks, the kind he gets only when he’s both determined and embarrassed.  
  
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Leeyum. If anything it’s my fault, I—”  
  
“ _Stop._ ” And Liam looks almost desperate, like he has to get this out, so Zayn quiets and just lets him talk. “I know—I know you lot don’t really need me around on missions, yeah? Like, you’ve all got your powers, or whatever, and then I’m just sort of _there_ making sure everyone’s tied their shoelaces and trying not to slow you down. So, like, it’s not a big secret that y’don’t need big, dumb Liam with you. But I guess—I guess today I kind of wanted to prove that even if you lot didn’t need me, I didn’t need you to look out for me, either, that I can at least pull me own weight. So I went off on me own, and tried to get shit down by myself so I wouldn’t slow you down, but I—I just fucked up even further, and I just—I’m sorry, Zayn, I’m sorry I messed up the whole mission with my dumb need to prove myself, I’m sorry, I just—” He breaks off and shakes his head desperately, hunching his broad shoulders under the weight of Zayn’s gaze.  
  
“Liam.”  
  
“Don’t say it’s okay,” Liam says wildly. “It’s not okay. I heard you and Louis talking about how we were gonna split up yesterday, and it was pretty obvious that Harry was the better option of the two of us, so you don’t have to pretend like it’s not true, cause I know it is.”  
  
“Liam, I—wait. You heard us saying what?”  
  
“You were trying to decide how we would split up,” Liam says tightly, his cheeks more flushed than ever. “And you were finally like _oh, you can have Harry._ So. Like. It’s pretty obvious neither of you wanted to be with me, yeah? And it’s fine, I get it—I wouldn’t want to be pulling my dead weight either, but like—I just wanted to tell you what I ran off today. And I’m sorry.”  
  
“Oh, Liam.” Zayn carefully sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out to take one of Liam’s hands in both of his. “Liam. Babe. That’s not what that was at all. I knew Louis wanted to be with Harry cause he wanted some time to talk with Harry about that night at the club. So, like, I dunno when you stopped listening, but I told him he could have Harry, and then I said that we would take the front entrance, cause that’s busier, so they could have a bit of peace and quiet. And then I said that I was sure that I would be able to handle covering the front entrance if I had you with me. I promise, babe. You were just listening at the wrong time.”  
  
Liam’s still staring at the blankets, though, so Zayn gently reaches out and lifts his chin.  
  
“And hey—if you wanna try ruining a mission, try havin’ a literal mental breakdown in the basement of an office building in front of twenty people you’re supposed to be fighting, and then being hauled out by your friend, who you subsequently tell your entire life story to as you walk home together, even though he never fucking asked. Like, don’t tell me that wasn’t pretty bad, in terms of fuck-ups.”  
  
Liam blinks. “Zayn, I—”  
  
“Liam. We do need you, okay? I dunno what we’d do without you here. I dunno how we managed to do anything at all before we had you here. You keep us all sane and practical, and you don’t take any of Louis’ shit, and you’re so good with Harry even when he’s being weird, and you’re probably the only person I’ve ever seen come even fuckin’ close to beating Niall at arm wrestling, and you’ll calm me down and listen to my shit and talk to me about superheroes even though the rest of the boys think it’s geeky, and you make really fucking good tea, and I honestly don’t give a fuck what kind of shit you can or can’t do, okay?”  
  
“I—okay,” Liam breathes, “okay.”  
  
And Zayn can feel Liam exhale against his skin, and it strikes him that right now they’re so close—close enough that if Zayn leaned forward an inch, half an inch, their lips would be touching.  
  
He almost does it.  
  
But then he just quickly presses a kiss into Liam’s cheek, cool and light and platonic as he can make it, pats Liam carefully on the head, and whispers, “Y’not dead weight, Liam. You’re worth a whole lot more than that.”  
  
And then Zayn sits back to stare at the same page for two hours while Liam sleeps, and tries to figure out his feelings under the messy veil of denial that he’s wrapped around his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! That's done. Why do all my chapters always end with a heart-to-heart followed by internal conflict, lol. Raise your hand if you didn't know how that was going to end! *raises my own hand bc I have no idea where this is going*.   
> ANYWAY I can't really tell you when to expect the next chapter, because this is literally hell week for me, cause my AP test is on Friday. Please send me good vibes Friday morning. Send me all the good vibes you can spare. I'll need them. I'm freaking out tbh. But after the AP exam, I'll have waaay more time to write and blog and basically just live, so I'm looking forward to being done. I wasn't kidding about sending me good vibes, though.  
> I think that's all I needed to say. Basically after Friday I should be able to go back to updating more regularly. I hope you all are still interested in this fic.   
> Thank you for reading! Please leave me comments and kudos and make me happy inside. You all are amazing. Hope you liked this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm tired af, so I'm gonna keep this short: sorry this is a little late; I got a lil lazy after my AP test, but you're not allowed to complain bc this is longer and more edited than usual, also bc i'm skipping out on my English homework to upload this, and also bc it hasn't been more than a week. But I am sorry.  
> A bit about the length of the fic: as I said to bumble_bumble_bumblebee in the comments, this was supposed to be 10 chapters, but obviously this is number 9, and no one has even snogged yet, so it'll be AT LEAST 12. At the very least. So you get to put up with my sporadic updates and shameless angst for a while yet.  
> Thank you to everyone who wished me luck on my AP test! You guys are honestly the greatest readers I could ever ask for (and I think i did pretty well, in case you were wondering).  
> Other than that, just have fun with this chapter. It's one of those that I'm really on the fence about liking, so . . . tell me what you think. All usual disclaimers apply, blah blah blah.

“Well, then, why don’t you just tell him?”  
  
Louis sighs. “It’s harder than that, Zayn, you know it is. Would you ever tell L—”  
  
“Shut the fuck up.” He’s met with a knowing grin, and so Zayn shoves the smaller boy in the shoulder before offering him another cigarette.  
  
Louis accepts it and lights up with the trembling hands of a relatively amateur smoker. “It would ruin everything. Think how awkward it would make it for you guys and for him. I’m good. I’ve held it in for this long, haven’t I? I can keep on doing that for a bloody long time.”  
  
“Or,” Zayn says, “you could _not_ do that, and just grow a pair and tell Harry that you’re in lo—”  
  
It’s Louis’ turn to administer a shove, rocking Zayn off balance. “Shut the fuck up.”  
  
Apparently, Louis’ gotten out of the denial phase that followed his drunken confession of his feelings for Harry, and now wants legitimate advice. Not that he’s, like, actually taking Zayn’s advice, but whatever. He wants to talk. Which, in Zayn’s book, is definitely an improvement. And that led to this, them standing here smoking in the shadow of the flat building and going back and forth over an issue neither of them are about to compromise on.  
  
“Mate, you can’t deny that Haz looks at you like you hang the bloody moon or something. The two of you have been practically dating for ages. The only thing you need to do now is fucking snog. And then fucking fuck, I guess.”  
  
Louis purses his lips around the cigarette and doesn’t say anything. “I don’t wanna freak him out,” he says finally.  
  
“ _Freak him out_ ,” Zayn scoffs. “The boy has fucking x-ray eyes, and you worry about freaking him out. That’s pitiful excuse, and you know it.”  
  
“One of your best mates being in love with you is a lot different than having x-ray eyes,” Louis says, but it’s a pathetic defense.  
  
“I highly doubt anything is gonna make things awkward between you two.” Zayn thinks for a moment. “He’s besotted with you, believe me.”  
  
Louis frowns. “Not sure what that means. But it sounds like something wet, and I’m all for getting Harry wet, if you know what I mean.”  
  
Zayn groans. “You’re thinking of sopping, you stupid fucking idiot. Besotted means he’s in love with you. Wanker.”  
  
“To the thought of Harry, I am,” Louis retorts, and Zayn nearly backhands him.  
  
“That is too much fucking information, you little piece of—”  
  
“Oh, don’t act like the thought of me pullin’ off doesn’t get you all hot and steamy—”  
  
“I will fucking annihilate you—”  
  
“Am I interrupting something?” Liam sounds a little apprehensive.  
  
Zayn rounds on him. “Shouldn’t you still be in bed?”  
  
“Yeah, and shouldn’t Zayn be there too?” Louis says slyly, and Zayn backhands him for real this time.  
  
“I, uh—”  
  
“Louis, shut the fuck up for once in your life, or I swear to God I’ll tell Harry what you just told me.”  
  
“About the wan—”  
  
“Yes, about the bloody wanking.”  
  
“Bloody wanking doesn’t sound very appealing,” Louis says thoughtfully, and Zayn swears that he’ll kill him one day, “but I’ll be quiet. If I must.”  
  
“ _Good_.” He turns back to Liam. “I’m serious, babe, shouldn’t you be in bed?”  
  
He hears Louis whisper _babe_ under his breath but chooses to ignore him.  
  
“Yeah, well, we got a letter.” For the first time, Zayn notices that Liam looks grim. “And I think the two of you should come take a look at it.”

  


_Liam  
  
Louis  
  
Niall  
  
Harry Styles  
  
Zayn Malik  
  
_ Those were the only comprehensive words they found in the three pages of gibberish they’d been sent. And it’s freaking Liam out.  
  
“Why fuck would they send us this shit when they could’ve just sent us a letter saying _hi there, don’t mean to be rude, but we know your names and where you live; hope it doesn’t make you flip shit_ or something? Why this shit?” Louis looks more furious than scared, like regardless of anything else, he can’t believe the pure inconsideration that went into this letter.  
  
“Intimidation tactics,” Liam says, his throat feeling dry and tight.  
  
“Doesn’t this sort of fit in with the stuff we found in their filing cabinets, though?” Harry says slowly. When Louis and Zayn send him quizzical looks, he explains, “The first time we raided the office, we found cabinet full of typed nonsense like this. I don’t think we found any real words though, if there were any in there.”  
  
“So it’s like a trademark of the gang’s, then?” Niall says. He’s biting his nails to stubs, and smiling in the way that he does only when he’s terribly nervous.  
  
“Well, it’s a fucking stupid one, then,” Louis snaps, flinging the papers down on the counter. “It’s like something out of bad detective movie.”  
  
“Personally I think it’s more like _The Shining_ ,” Harry says, “All work and no play, that type of thing.”  
  
“I think Liam’s kind of right though,” Zayn says, speaking up for the first time.  
  
“You would,” Louis mutters.  
  
“Shut up.” He picks up the letter. “I mean, they sent us a letter, right? So they know our address. Obviously, this is a very conspicuous way to deliver a message, with all this keyboard smashing, so they want us to know it’s them without having to put a return address on it. So that obviously gives them an advantage, and gets us scared without giving us any more information. And then they put our names in the letter, just to make sure we know they know who we are. So, like, this is kind of like an intimidation technique, right? It’s pretty clever, actually.”  
  
There’s a short silence, and then Louis says, “Is Liam possessing you? Cause that was a lot of common sense for you.”  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes. “I don’t think so.”  
  
Louis’ grin becomes sharp. “Pity. I know how much you’d like him inside of you. If you get my meaning.”  
  
Zayn lightly punches him in the shoulder, while the rest of them stare.  
  
“Why are you like this?” Liam says, slightly despairing, because he fucking knows that Zayn wouldn’t ever want him (not that, like, Liam’s _into_ Zayn or anything but _still_ ), and Louis making jokes about it somehow makes that fact depressing. (Again, Liam’s not into Zayn, but he’d like to think that if feelings were to somehow develop—not that they were, mind—Zayn would reciprocate them).  
  
Louis just sends him a wicked smile and sends a bolt of lightning crackling towards the ceiling, as if for dramatic effect.  
  
“Don’t burn anything,” Liam and Harry chant in unison while Zayn ducks the bolt with bored, well-practiced precision.  
  
“Moving on,” Niall says quickly, “I think it’s real interestin’ that they know Harry and Zayn’s last names.”  
  
“Well, I told them mine, when I got kidnapped,” Harry says, “dunno how they got Zayn’s though.”  
  
“They probably heard my first name, did some askin’ around, and found the people I used to deal for,” Zayn says, shrugging. “I don’t have a very common name, yeah? Probably wasn’t too hard to find someone who could name and describe me for the right amount of money.”  
  
Liam puts his arm around his shoulders, and Zayn shrugs again like _it’s not a big deal_ , but leans into Liam’s side anyway. Liam tries to ignore the warm feeling he gets in his stomach at Zayn’s touch. Honestly. He tries.  
  
Louis, for some reason, smirks at the pair of them. Liam withdraw his arm, feeling a little guilty for no particular reason, and hopes he imagines the faint sigh Zayn lets out when he retracts.  
  
_We have important things to worry about_ , Liam tells himself. _Try to fucking focus._  
  
“Okay, so they know where we live, and they know our names, and they want us to know,” Harry says. “Do you think this is their way of warning us to stop poking around? Like, stay off our turf, and we’ll stay off yours, or do you think they’re actually threatening us?”  
  
There’s a short silence as they all turn the idea over.  
  
“Zayn? You know about gangs and shit, spit some wisdom for us here,” Louis says.  
  
Zayn slowly shakes his head. “I dunno. I mean, the people I worked for probably would’ve meant it as a straight up threat, yeah? Well—they probably wouldn’t have bothered with this shit at all, just would’ve sent in a hit guy and beat us up real good, or maybe even taken us out.” He laughs a little self-deprecatingly, the fingers of his casted arm absently tracing over two faint scars on the inside of his opposite elbow. Liam wonders if they’re from an encounter with such a hit man. “I dunno how these people work, though.”  
Liam bumps his fingers against Zayn’s arm comfortingly, and Zayn flicks him a warm glance underneath his eyelashes.  
  
“Okay, so we know what they know about us, but we don’t know what they want. That’s splendid,” Louis says. “I think we’re all out of ideas, then, yeah? Shall we call Simon and see what the boss has to say?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan,” Harry says approvingly, “we should’ve thought of that sooner.”  
  
Louis beams at him, his smile far too wide for such a simple compliment, and it’s Zayn’s turn to smirk back at Louis. Louis promptly glares at him. Not for the first time, Liam wonders what the fuck is going on between those two. Knowing them, they’re probably thick as thieves over some new private joke. A joke that apparently has to do with both Liam and Harry.  
  
They end up not being able to reach Simon, and Liam goes to lay back down soon after, his shoulder throbbing.  
  
The letter lays open on the kitchen counter like a bomb waiting to go off.

  


Zayn’s pulled out of his uneasy dreams by Louis’ impatient hands.  
  
“Zayn, wake up. Wake _up_ , fuck you.”  
  
“M’up, I’m up,” he mumbles, wiping the last visions of blood and fear and helplessness out of his eyes with the back of his hand and sitting up. “What happened?”  
“We just got a call.”  
  
“From Simon? What does he have to say?”  
  
“No, not from Simon,” Louis says grimly. “From the same people who sent us the letter. They say they have Simon. As in, like, kidnapped him in the dead of night and all that shit.”  
  
Zayn feels his blood go cold. “The gang has Simon? How did they get him?”  
  
“Dunno. They left a voicemail, come listen.”  
  
Zayn stumbles out of bed and into the living room where Niall’s already sitting with bleary eyes.  
  
“Harry’s gettin’ Li,” he says, tossing the phone from hand to hand nervously.  
  
Zayn confiscates the phone before he can crush it and turns on the voicemail as Harry and Liam come out of the bedroom. Harry looks terrified, Liam confused and panicky.  
  
“Ready to listen?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He hits the play button and Simon’s voice comes out of the phone.  
  
“Boys? It’s Simon. I’m—well—I’ve been kidnapped, so to speak. They won’t tell me who they are, but I believe they’re the gang we’ve been investigating recently. Anyway, they want me to pass on the message that you’re to stop looking into their affairs immediately, or they’ll kill me.” There’s a brief pause. “So. Do as you see fit with that information. You know what I’d want you to do.”  
  
There’s a few second of rustling at the other end of the phone, and then a different voice speaks, smooth and affected with a London accent.  
  
“Send one of you five boys to the alley off Second and Chester Street. Saturday. Seven at night. Don’t be late. If you don’t show, you’ll get the old man’s head in a bag. Your choice, boys.” He lets out a short breath. “I’ll see you then.”  
  
The voicemail ends, and Zayn finally sucks in a desperate breath, realizing that he hadn’t inhaled throughout the whole message.  
  
“Who even leaves voicemail anymore?” Louis finally bursts out. He sounds like he wants to cry. “Why didn’t he just like, text us or something? I mean, the man sent us a bloody letter earlier. Who sends letters anymore? Does this guy live in the twenty first century with the rest of us? Is he serious? Who even—”  
  
He lets out a short, choked sob, and then Harry’s there to wrap his long arms around him and whisper soothingly in his ear.  
  
Niall looks lost. “What does he mean, you know what I’d want you to do? Cause I sure as hell don’t fuckin’ know what he wants us to do here!”  
  
“He probably couldn’t say anything clearer,” Liam says in a measured voice, like he’s concentrating on keeping his upset from showing. “I mean, that second guy was standing right there. Simon was probably just supposed to deliver the message and then shut up, not give us advice on what to do.”  
  
“He’d probably want us to save him,” Zayn says quietly.  
  
“Do you really think that’s what he meant?” Liam looks at him with dull eyes. “If you were in his position, would you want us to come for you?”  
  
Zayn looks down without saying anything, because no, he’d want the boys to stay away and keep safe and not risk their lives to save his useless one, but none of that’s much help right now.  
  
“I think the real question,” Harry says, trying to sound calm and failing magnificently, “is whether or not we go meet up with the guy on Saturday.”  
  
“In an alley way at night,” Louis said furiously, eyes still full of tears. “I mean, honestly? _Really_? He had to go and make it sound that suspicious? Who even does that? Who would—”  
  
Harry cuts him off by kissing the top of his head. Louis’ mouth falls into a tiny, perfect, “o”. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Zayn can’t help but smile a little.  
  
“We have to go,” Niall says, “or they’ll kill Simon. We have to.”  
  
“I’ll go,” Liam says immediately.  
  
Zayn glares at him. “You can’t even stand up for more than an hour. You got shot four days ago. I don’t think so.”  
  
“I’m the least valuable,” Liam says matter-of-factly. “No, don’t give me that look. In their eyes, I’m definitely the least valuable. I’m not saying I’m the least valuable to you, but to them I am.”  
  
“Yeah, so what reason do they have to keep you alive?” Zayn snarls. “No, I’ll go. I know how people like this work, and I’m the most powerful.”  
  
“Your arm is in a sling,” Liam points out mildly. “Maybe you’re not the best choice.”  
  
“Well, my ability to defend myself doesn’t depend on my arm. If I go meet these guys I don’t need my arm to fuck ‘em up with my head.”  
  
“I’ll go,” Harry says, “it’s my fault we’re in this mess at all. If I hadn’t told them my name—”  
  
“ _No_ ,” they all say, and Louis flicks Harry’s nose.  
  
“They know too much about you and you’re not that good in combat. Sorry, love, not bashing you, but it’s true.” He kisses the tip of Harry’s nose as if to soften both the words and the sting of the flick, and Harry blinks. Then Louis pulls away and straightens up. “I’ll go.”  
  
Zayn sighs. “Louis—”  
  
“Okay,” Niall says swiftly, cutting Zayn off with an upraised hand. “Let’s pick a name out of a hat, yeah? The way we’re goin’, we’ll be here for hours just buttin’ heads.”  
  
Liam draws in a deep breath. “That’s actually a good idea.”  
  
“Liam’s name doesn’t go in the hat,” Zayn says stubbornly. “He’s hurt. He can’t.”  
  
Liam gives him the nastiest glare Zayn’s ever seen him give anyone, a far call from his neutrality just moments ago.  
  
“Are you saying I can’t handle it? I was in the fucking military, in case you forgot. I know we can’t all be rough-and-tough former gang members like you, or have fancy powers to fuck with people’s heads, but I can do something. I’m not a fucking child.”  
  
There’s a tense, heavy silence in the air. Something feels so off, so surreal as they all stand there quietly at two AM in their pajamas, debating who’s the most qualified to enter what may very well be a death trap.  
  
“Niall,” Zayn grits out, “just put the fucking names in the hat, please.”  
  
The hat’s a farmer-like cap of Niall’s that they’ve all teased him endlessly about, the names scrawled on Zayn’s notebook paper in Niall’s distinctively awful handwriting. Niall, deemed by unanimous vote as the most neutral party, plunges his hand into the hat while Harry covers his eyes for him.  
  
“Got it,” he says shakily, and unfolds the paper. There’s flicker of worry that dashes across his face before he glances up at Zayn, and Zayn can’t help but think _thank fuck it’s me, I would’ve died if it was—_  
  
“Liam.”  
  
“ _WHAT?_ ” Zayn explodes.  
  
Liam shrugs coldly. “It’s fair, Zayn. We all had an equal chance.”  
  
“Liam, why the fuck can’t you just understand this? You can’t go out there, you can’t deal with someone like that, you’re not ready, you’ve been fucking shot, and you—”  
  
“Don’t have any powers?” Liam asks, jaw set. “I know that, thanks. It’s kinda hard to go a few hours without someone reminding me exactly how little I’m worth to you guys without any of those.”  
  
Zayn just gapes at him, stunned and hurt beyond measure, because that wasn’t what he’d meant at _all_. The next words would have been _you mean too much to me_ , would've been _I can't lose you now_ , but Liam—Liam had taken it in such a different way.  
  
“I don’t think that was what he was going to say, Li,” Harry says warily, eyeing the pair of them with the same trepidation he would look at a possibly dangerous wild animal. “The two of you have some communication issues, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, no fucking shit!” Liam explodes. “First he practically says he doesn’t want me with him, then we comes in my bedroom and reads me poetry and shit and says that you guys couldn’t do this without me and acts like he thinks I’m the shit, and now he’s acting like he doesn’t think that I can handle meeting up with one fucking person.”  
  
Zayn can feel something burning in his chest, but whether it’s anger or humiliation or fear or something else entirely, he’s not sure. But it’s definitely not surprise.  
  
“So you can either tell me what you fucking mean, or you can shut the fuck up,” Liam says, rounding on him with a vicious expression, “because I’m sick of having to figure you out and guess at what you’re trying to say, and I’m sick of you keeping all these dumb secrets, and I’m sick of you trying to pull your fucking issues out as an excuse for being an asshole. Either act like you give a damn, or act like I don’t mean shit, I don’t care. Just pick one.”  
  
And Zayn tries his hardest not to let tears cloud his eyes, because if he knows anything about Liam, Zayn crying will make him feel bad, and Zayn doesn’t want Liam to apologize.  
  
Because if Zayn’s honest with himself, he deserves this.  
  
So he doesn’t say anything, just stands there with his arms curled around his waist like they can somehow protect him, and just—takes it.  
  
“And don’t think you can stop me from going on Saturday.”  
  
But he still can’t let Liam risk himself like that. “Liam, please, just—” He reaches out to touch Liam, to reassure himself that there’s some part of him that can still be enough for Liam, but—  
  
“Don’t even fucking try that.” Liam snatches his arm away from Zayn and then winces when the movement obviously hurts his shoulder.  
  
“Are you—”  
  
But Liam roughly, mindlessly shoves Zayn away from him, and then storms into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. The other three boys stand there mutely, looking at Liam’s closed door like a crime scene. Zayn leans his head back against the wall he’d stumbled back against and squeezes his eyes shut.  
By the time he opens them again, the boys have left and he’s all alone.

  


Zayn ends up going.  
  
It pisses Liam off more than anything else to let him, but the condition of his shoulder has worsened considerably, and he can barely sit up in bed, let alone go to a meeting where he has to be in fighting condition. He doesn’t even call goodbye to Zayn when he hears the other boys wishing him luck in the living room, tries not to listen to Zayn’s mumbled farewell when he passes by Liam’s door, ignores the hesitance of his footsteps before he moves on.  
  
Liam’s still not sure what had gotten into him the other night, but the raging fury that had possessed him so suddenly hasn’t quite worn off yet, and he feels feverishly angry at the boy whose feet are even now tracing the path that should’ve been Liam’s. He fucking hates being helpless, and Zayn treating him like a child does nothing to alleviate his fear of being useless. At least the anger is more useful than his usual paralyzing panic.  
  
But he can’t shake the feeling that something’s making him angry, angrier than he would’ve been normally, something that’s not quite . . . him. It unnerves him almost as much as it infuriates him.  
  
“Hey, Liam?” Harry pokes his head around the door. His face is uncharacteristically cold. “You awake?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
“Oh.” He pauses. “I thought you might’ve been asleep, since, you know, y’didn’t come say bye.”  
  
“I didn’t want to.” He feels childish and sullen under Harry’s cool, penetrating green gaze.  
  
“Is that so?” Harry regards him for a moment and then says, “Well, seeing as Zayn’s leaving for what’s basically a solo mission, I’d’ve thought you might’ve wanted to. Seeing as he might not come back.” When that fails to move Liam, he adds, “If he dies, he’s gonna go thinking you hate him.”  
  
“What if I do?” Liam says belligerently, and again, he’s not quite sure where the words come from, because—because he doesn’t hate Zayn, doesn’t hate him at all, in fact he kind of lo—  
  
_Stop that thought right there, Payne._  
  
Harry just sighs and shakes his head, stepping out of the doorway. “Y’don’t hate him, Li. Dunno what’s gotten into you, but whatever he did couldn’t have been that bad. Stop icing him out.”  
  
“Whatever,” Liam grumbles, and turns over so he can’t see Harry. The click of the door tells him the other boy has given up.

  


When Zayn gets to the alley, there’s only one man standing there. It’s a bit of a relief to see that the other side has held their word, especially since he’s not sure how many he’d be able to take in an emergency; his powers are strong, but they’re fickle, too, and he’d rather not risk having to fight hand-to-hand with his arm in a sling.  
  
“Well, hello there, Zayn,” the man says amiably, turning to see Zayn standing a few feet away and holding out a hand for Zayn to shake. The guy’s a bit taller than he is, with a pointed face framed by a neatly trimmed dark beard, vaguely good-looking in an arrogant kind of way. Zayn doesn’t take his hand.  
  
“How’d you know who I was?”  
  
“Oh—well, I assume you got our letter?”  
  
Zayn nods, realizing with a jolt that the man had been the second voice they’d heard on the voicemail.  
  
“So you know we know all your names. And, well, I just thought a name like Zayn couldn’t belong to anyone but such an exotic beauty as yourself.”  
  
There’s a few seconds of straight silence, and then Zayn says flatly, “If you pretend like you didn’t just say that, I’ll pretend like it wasn’t insincere as fuck, and frankly, a little bit racist.”  
  
The man arches a practiced eyebrow. “A little bit racist? Surely that’s a little—oversensitive?”  
  
“There’s more Asian people than white people in the world; just cause I don’t look like you doesn’t mean I’m fucking exotic, you dumb fuck,” Zayn snaps, and yeah, maybe they should’ve sent Liam, because Zayn’s not too great at this whole people thing. “How bout you tell me your name so I can stop calling you asshole in my head?”  
  
“You can call me Ben,” the man says smoothly, “I’m the new leader of the crows.”  
  
“Sure, and I’m trying to get in a boyband. You guys wouldn’t send your leader out for negotiations.”  
  
“Guess you better start looking for auditions, sweetheart, because like it or not, that’s who I am.” He steps towards the exit of the alley and quirks an eyebrow at Zayn. “Shall we go get a coffee? I think we have a few things to talk about.”

  


The coffee shop Ben chooses is a bustling Starbucks a few streets away. Zayn takes the crowded location as a sign that Ben’s not going to be attacking him any time soon, mostly because it’d be impractical to have a fight in the middle of a coffee-drinking crowd of uni students. He declines the invitation to order coffee, because he doesn’t have any money on him (though it’d be useful, on second thought, to have brought a bribe), and then vehemently refuses Ben’s offer to pay for him. Zayn’s not quite that stupid—he knows how this stuff works; let someone do you a favor, even the smallest one, and you’re in their debt forever.  
  
“So, my charming friend, where are we going to begin? With what I know about you, or shall we skip the foreplay and cut to when I tell you how you can get your crotchety old man back?”  
  
Zayn’s also not stupid enough to skip out on free information if he can, so he says, “I’m more of a fan of a little bit of prep, myself. Let’s go with you telling me some shit.”  
  
“Smart choice.” Ben mock-toasts him with his coffee cup. “Let’s start with your oh-so-unusual abilities. I know that the small one—Louis, is it?—can shoot electric bolts out of his hands. I believe one of you has superhuman strength. Other than that, I’m not sure, other than I know one of you has the same type of powers that I do.”  
  
Zayn feels a sick, heaving feeling rise up in his chest. “That you do?” _What do you mean you have powers, you—_  
  
Ben grins, probably relishing the feeling of having the upper hand. “Oh, sweetheart—you honestly think I would have come here to meet you, alone and unarmed, without some kind of backup plan? No. I’m quite as talented as you and your little troop of half-assed superheroes. In fact, I have the same kind of powers your most powerful member does. That probably scares you, doesn’t it?”  
  
Zayn swallows down his surprise, holds down his panic, and leans forward, keeping his face impassive. “Not really, seeing as I’m the most powerful one we’ve got. I guess we’re a little more evenly matched than you thought, yeah?”  
  
All he gets is a snort of derision in return. “You boys are amateur, but not quite that stupid. You wouldn’t send your most powerful member.” He smirks. “If you can do what I can, then I’m a music video director.”  
  
“Then start looking for sets, _sweetheart_ , because you’re up against someone your own size.” He gives Ben a mocking glance and adds, “You’d probably be a shit director, though.”  
  
Ben’s demeanor is a little less scornful and a whole lot more tense now.  
  
“So we can go at it right here in the middle of a Starbucks, and see who comes out on top, or you can tell me what you want, and we can see what I can do about it. And I wouldn’t be too cocky if I were you, because I’m pretty fucking good at what I can do.”  
  
“I think you’re counting something out here, love,” Ben says back, sugary sweet. “I don’t think you know I know where your dear dad is.”  
  
Zayn freezes.  
  
“Oh yes. Again, I have more leverage than you think.” He watches Zayn’s face with a hard expression. “And we’re working on the rest of the boys’ mums and dads, too. Pity you don’t have a mummy, eh? Died in a car crash when you were four, that sound familiar?”  
  
“What did you do with my dad?” Zayn asks, fighting down an exquisitely painful mixture of _you can have him_ and _he’s still my father_ and _do you know everything that he’s done._  
  
“Nothing, yet. He’s still safe at home,” and Zayn notes the vague location, “probably thinking about his dear boy. Does he know what nasty people you got mixed up in a few years ago? Does he know you can read people’s minds like books? Or did you not tell him, so as to not break his heart?”  
  
Zayn regards him for a minute, feeling relief and horror and even amusement slosh in his stomach, because _he doesn’t know a fucking thing_ , and then says, “Y’obviously have no idea who or where me dad is. Try to pull another one like that on me, and we’re done here.”  
  
“But I—”  
  
“Just tell me what you know.” He hoists up his most intimidating glare. “And talk fast.”

  


It’s midnight, and Liam has forgiven Zayn of everything. He swears that if the older boy comes back in one piece, he’ll never be angry at him again. Niall has long since gone to sleep, and Harry and Louis have disappeared into Louis’ bedroom, their soft voices leaking under the door, laced with concern. Liam’s still pacing the living room, though, trying to swallow down the panic that’s rising in his throat.  
  
_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry_. The anger of the previous night seems so far removed from him that it feels like another person had shouted at Zayn instead of Liam.  
  
_If he comes back okay, I’ll apologize a thousand times._ His shoulder’s throbbing worse than ever, but he can’t make himself sit down.  
  
He suddenly realizes this is what it felt like for Zayn when he saw Liam getting shot.  
  
“. . . my own theories on his little outburst last night,” he hears Louis say in the bedroom. There’s a significant pause, and then Louis says, “Yeah. I mean, it’s always in some extreme circumstance, right? I was hit by fucking lightning. Zayn was trying to kill himself. D’you think Simon getting kidnapped counts?”  
  
“It would explain why he wasn’t like himself last night. I got weird mood swings and shit when I got mine,” Harry says, more quietly than Louis had been, and then their voices drop even lower.  
  
Liam gives up on eavesdropping. So they think he’s getting his powers. For once, he’s not interested in the prospect. He just wants Zayn back in one piece.  
  
_You’re probably stressing out too much; he’s probably fine. Five hours isn’t that much to hammer out a hostage negotiation_.  
  
_But what if it’s a trap?_  
  
He reminds himself not to think too much.  
  
_It’ll be fine_.

  


Zayn opens the door to the flat as quietly as he can, his knees still a little shaky from his conversation with Ben. He doesn’t know how he’s gonna tell the boys the choice they have . . . he’ll tell them in the morning, let everyone get a good night’s sleep before—  
  
“Zayn?”  
  
He jumps a little at Liam’s voice from the living room.  
  
“I—” He suddenly frowns. “I thought your shoulder hurt? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”  
  
“Yeah—I had—had to stay up; make sure you were okay.” Liam reaches out, but Zayn stays where he is, too tired and suspicious for contact.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says warily. “You should probably get some sleep, yeah?”  
  
Liam’s face crumples, and Zayn half makes a grabbing motion at the air, a useless reflex that tries to snatch his words back.  
  
“Zayn, I’m sorry, I know I was a dick—I dunno why I said that shit, I—”  
  
Zayn cuts him off with a quick shake of his head. “No, listen, you were right. About some of it anyway. I’m a moody shit, and I have issues, and I try to deal with it, but most of the time I just fuck up, yeah? But—like—I . . . the reason I didn’t want you to go was cause you’re hurt. Not cause what you can or can’t do. I told you that shit doesn’t matter to me.” _But it might matter to Ben._  
  
“Okay, yeah, I,” Liam reaches out towards him again, and this time Zayn lets Liam’s hand fall on his shoulder, slide up and down his arm comfortingly, “I’m sorry. I get it. I—” He seems to struggle for a moment, and then whispers, “I was so scared, Zayn. If you—hadn’t come back, I—I would’ve—”  
  
His hand presses against Zayn’s cheek, and Zayn, selfishly, knowing that _he doesn’t mean this like you want him to_ , lets himself lean against his touch for a moment, the fear and panic and tenseness fading away for a single, breathless moment. And for maybe half a second, he swears Liam’s looking at him like Zayn’s the sun in his eyes, and then—  
  
“Well, it looks like the two lovebirds have kissed and made up,” Louis’ voice says from across the room. “I’m touched. It’s like goddamn Titanic up in here.”  
  
Liam snatches his fingers away from Zayn like he’s been burned, and Zayn shakes off whatever pathetic, hopeful illusions he’d had a moment before.  
  
“How’d the meeting go?” Thank God for Harry, with his never-ending politeness and usually-present focus.  
  
“I—” Zayn looks down at himself. “I’m alive.” _Even though I (we) might not be for long._ “That’s always good thing.”  
  
“No shit,” Louis says, eyes flickering between Liam and Zayn, and _how can he think of something like that at a time like this?_  
  
“I met up with the leader of the crows,” Zayn says evenly. “He--knew a lot of shit about us. And he proposed a deal.”  
  
“What kind of deal?”  
  
Zayn looks anywhere but the boys. “You’re not going to like it.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for cliffhanger endings! Writing asshole Liam was kinda fun tbqh. More about that will be explained in the next chapter! And Louis was fun to write as always.  
> Also: did anyone catch that "Ben" is Ben Winston between the corny innuendos and contrived angst? Did I really make Ben Winston my supervillian? The answer to that, my friends, is yes. Ben Winston is my arch-nemesis. Also, I'm sorry if this chapter wasn't really comprehensive?? Idk I just felt like it was back and forth a lot. I think I'm just really ennhh about this chapter in general actually.  
> Anyway. Please leave comments and kudos and fall in love with me and all that good stuff. You guys are literally the best.  
> See ya soon. I'm gonna go sleep my ass off.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I really updating on time? Yes, I am really updating on time. Here, have a chapter full of dumb superhero boys and their stupid feelings, or whatever. There's a lot of emotions in this chapter because I was too lazy to write real plot points. I'm not really sorry.  
> Sooo yeah, last chapter a few people commented that they thought that the "most powerful member" Ben referred to was Liam? And then Zayn was all like "I'm the most powerful one we've got"? Remember that? Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't mean to lead you on or anything. I actually did mean Zayn when I wrote that. Should've made it more clear, sorry. So just to be straight forward, Ben has the same powers as Zayn does. Sorry if that wasn't what it sounded like. THAT DOESN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT LIAM OR HOW POWERFUL HE IS THOUGH! It just means that Ben doesn't know what his powers are just like everyone else. Yay. Glad we cleared that up. Good talk. More rambling at the end of the chapter, as usual.  
> All usual disclaimers apply.  
> Oh, and also, the italicized bit where Zayn's talking to Ben at the beginning is a flashback, in case that's not clear.

_“Tell you what I want?” Ben smiles. “Well, what I want is very simple, Zayn.” He leans forward, and somewhere beneath the coffee and cologne Zayn smells something metallic like blood. “I want you and your four little friends to leave us alone.”  
  
“Done,” Zayn says immediately. “Give us Simon back and you’ve got yourself a deal.”  
  
“Not quite that simple.”  
  
“You literally just said what you want is simple.”  
  
“But not that simple. You see, I want . . . assurance that you won’t be meddling in our affairs.”  
  
Zayn’s instantly suspicious.  
  
“I want you and the rest of your superhero orgy to come to me—I’ll give you, say, a month to think about it—and turn yourselves in.”  
  
“I don’t fucking think so—”  
  
“Just hear me out, Zayn, sweetheart. I have the same powers as you do, remember? I’m sure you know of that little trick where you can turn off parts of another’s brain, yes?”  
  
Zayn feels sick when he nods.  
  
“Well, as the price for the life of your dear mentor, I will turn off the part of your brains that control your powers.” Ben looks gorged on the appalment Zayn can’t help but show. “All five of you will be left completely normal, and you can take your old man and go on your merry way. I think that will take care of this little problem very nicely.”  
  
“Do you, now?” Zayn says, his mind racing. There’s got to be some kind of loophole . . . “What if we decide not to do that?”  
  
“Well,” Ben says, nonchalantly inspecting his fingernails, “I guess it’ll be poor old Simon who gets his brain shut down. Just not part of it, either.”  
  
“Why’d you want us out of the way, anyhow? Also,” he adds suspiciously, “why not just kill us, if you want us to fuck off? That’d be easier, yeah?”  
  
“I want to out of the way because I don’t want any challenges,” Ben says, his expression suddenly intense. “Why do you think the crows follow me? I wasn’t born into the gang, I’m not particularly powerful in physical combat, I’m not even terribly rich. But I can control them through the perfect cocktail of mind tricks and intimidation. And I can’t afford someone challenging my position, inspiring that kind of awe and fear in the crows, and taking my control. I have plans, Zayn. And I don’t want your raggedy band of wanna-be heroes getting in the way.”  
  
“Cool,” Zayn says, “but why not just kill us?”  
  
Ben laughs. “Now why would I tell you that? Maybe I do plan on killing you. The real question is, do you care about Simon’s life enough to find out?”_

  


“So basically,” Louis says, “all the melodramatic “mwah-ha-ha” moments aside, what this Ben character wants is to take away our powers. So we don’t challenge his position as the big gang boss. Well, I’ve got news for him—we don’t want to be the big gang bosses, we want to fucking _shut down his gang._ I think he’s a little bit mixed up in that respect.”  
  
“You do realize we have to go, though, right?” Harry says quietly. “I mean, do our powers matter more to us than Simon’s life?”  
  
There’s a short silence.  
  
“Liam, what do you think?” Louis asks, his voice brittle. “You’re the sensible one, c’mon.”  
  
Liam startles a little at Louis’ words as if surprised at having his opinion asked. “I don’t think I really have a say in this,” he says finally. “I mean, I wouldn’t be giving much up, right?”  
  
“Well—Harry and I think—”  
  
“That my powers are coming soon, yeah, I heard,” and wait, what is this now? Zayn thinks. “And I mean, like, I dunno. I don’t really feel like m’self, lately, anyway. But whatever I have might not show up within the month, and even if it did, I wouldn’t have gotten used to it like you boys.”  
  
Louis makes a noise of frustration. “Fine. Where’s Horan when we need him, eh? Still sleeping?”  
  
“Yeah, let him sleep,” Liam says heavily. “He doesn’t need to hear about this until the morning.”  
  
“What do you think, Lou?” Harry asks with a slight note of hesitation in his voice.  
  
“I think—I think that—I don’t know what I bloody think, all right? I just don’t think it’s right to give in to this wanker’s demands without even talking about it! There must be some other options we have here. There’s always another option. This can’t be—like—the end.”  
  
No one says anything after that. Now that Louis puts it that way, Zayn realizes that, yeah, giving up their powers to Ben would not only be giving in, but it would also be the end of everything they’ve built here. Losing their powers would be losing it all.  
  
“Listen,” he says, and they all turn to look at him. “I agree with Louis, bu—”  
  
“Damn right you do,” Louis says with a fiercely approving nod, and Zayn nods back like _I got you, bro_ because they’ve been a team ever since Louis stopped wanting to, you know, kill him.  
  
“But,” he continues, “I don’t think we should just dismiss going. More than what Louis said, I think what he’s doing is really fucking suspicious. If he doesn’t want any challengers, why doesn’t he take Simon’s powers too? And why wouldn’t he just kill us, like I asked him? And his answer was pretty shit, too, like, _oh, I’d rather keep it a mystery._ That doesn’t bode well for us. I think it’s gonna be a trap, and we’re all gonna end up dead.”  
  
“Are we really gonna take the chance, though? If we don’t go, Simon will end up dead for sure, and the crows’ll probably kill us off, too,” Harry argues. “If we go, at least we have a chance.”  
  
Zayn nods slowly; he’s so tired that everything feels thick and syrupy when he moves. “Yeah, I know. I’m not saying we shouldn’t go all together. But we shouldn’t just go give ourselves up, either.”  
  
“You thinkin’ rescue mission?” Louis asks.  
  
“You read my mind,” Zayn says. “Well—technically, I read yours, but—you get it.”  
  
They exchange conspiratorial grins.  
  
“I think we should sleep on it,” Liam says suddenly. “We’re all exhausted and stressed, and I feel like I can’t even think straight, dunno about you lads.”  
  
“Yeah, that sounds like the best idea so far,” Harry says tightly. “Good night.” He turns around and walks towards his bedroom without another word. Louis watches him forlornly, and then slips into the room behind him at the last moment, the beginning of his, “Haz, look, please—” cut off by the closing door.  
  
Zayn turns to Liam tiredly. “What’s this about you getting your powers?”  
  
Liam shrugs. “Harry and Louis think that since I’ve been acting—you know—weirdly, I guess, that that means that I’m getting them now. Who know, though? If I’m just gonna get them taken away, right away, maybe I don’t want them at all.”  
  
“Yeah.” Zayn closes his eyes briefly. “I hope you get the awesomest powers ever, Li. You deserve it.” _You deserve everything._  
  
Liam ducks his head, rubs at the back of his neck nervously. “That’s the plan, yeah.”  
  
Zayn nods. “I think m’gonna hit my bed. Long day, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah . . .” He looks down for a second. “Is it okay if I crash in your room?”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Zayn glances at him curiously. “S’okay if I ask why?”  
  
“I dunno, I just,” Liam draws in a shuddering breath. “I don’t feel—right. Lately. I’ve just—” He breaks off. “I’m scared. I’m fucking scared. Everything is moving so fast, and it feels like—I can’t—I just—I dunno. It feels like everything’s falling apart. And I dunno what’s gonna be left behind.” He laughs in that slightly self-deprecating way people do when they say something they’re scared to share. “That didn’t make much sense. Bit melodramatic, innit.”  
  
“Nah, I,” and Zayn’s breath hitches at the way Liam glows in the faint light from the bedroom door, the way he’s so solid, so warm, so _there_ even when he’s exhausted and injured, and fuck, Zayn is—Zayn is falling— _fuck_. “I get what you mean,” he finishes belatedly.  
  
“I don’t feel like me,” Liam whispers. “Ever since two nights ago, I’ve just been, like, angry and upset, and I was so worried about you, and now I find out we might be fucking dead in less than a month, but you’re here, and somehow that—yeah.”  
  
Zayn looks at him, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to forgive him for the anger and the shouting of the previous night. “I know, babe,” he says softly. “Sometimes stuff gets shitty, yeah? We’re gonna make it through this one, though. Just like we have every other time. I promise, okay?” He feels a sudden, sharp burst of protectiveness. “I fucking promise.”  
  
Liam doesn’t say anything, just looks down at his socked feet quietly and sighs.  
  
“So crash in my room tonight?” Zayn asks gently, and he hopes Liam knows— _knows_ Liam knows—that the invitation is forgiveness and comfort and trust wrapped into a few words. It’s an offer, but it’s also a promise.  
  
“Yeah, I—you sure?” Because Liam knows that Zayn is vulnerable when he’s asleep, prey to nightmares and the constant fear that someone will be able to hurt him when he’s not able to defend himself. The fact that Liam cares enough to double check makes Zayn’s heart swell a little under his weighted down chest.  
  
“I’m sure, babe. Lemme shower and get changed, and you go lay down.”  
  
“In the bed is fine?”  
  
“In the bed is fine.” He pats Liam’s cheek. “Wouldn’t make ya sleep on the floor with a shot up shoulder now, would I?”  
  
“Guess not,” Liam says, and the faintly fond tilt of his lips is a good enough substitute for a smile for now. 

  


The problem is that Liam’s so confused about everything. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that the entire world was falling apart around him, but he can very obviously see that everything seems to be holding up just fine. He taps the bedframe with his knuckles just to make sure it’s still holding up. Yeah, maybe it’s just him that’s falling apart.  
  
He still can’t believe Simon’s gone, let alone wrap his head around the fact that they may have to exchange their powers—the boys’ powers—or even their lives for his. And he’s still so unexplainably afraid of the idea that his sudden seeming emotional instability is stemming from developing powers. He’s become so used to the reality of having none that he’s not quite sure what he’d do with them. What if he hates his powers? Zayn seems to hate his, even thinks that they make him a monster (they don’t, but Liam can’t help but be afraid that he’ll think the same about his). Or what if they’re useless, or evil, or unhelpful, or—  
  
“Why’re you still awake, Leeyum?”  
  
Liam drags his gaze up to the doorway, where Zayn’s standing with his half-dried hair sticking up in all directions, a pair of joggers—and nothing else—riding low on his skinny hips. Liam tries not to look at the tattoos and scars marking up Zayn’s body, tries not to think about skimming his fingers over every one—a mission that’s obviously unsuccessful, because by the time he forces his eyes to meet Zayn’s, he’s feeling a little inappropriate for ogling his platonic (albeit shirtless and very objectively attractive) mate like this.  
  
This is exactly when Liam means by confused.  
  
“Liam, babe?”  
  
“Huh?” He startles at the realization that Zayn’s expecting an answer.  
  
“Sure you’re all right?”  
  
“I, uh, I, uh—yeah, course.”  
  
“Mm.” Zayn gives him a skeptical look. “Mind if I turn off the lights?”  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
Zayn flicks off the lamp and then stumbles his way over to the bed, crawling under the covers to lay down a few inches away from Liam, too far to touch, but close enough that Liam knows he’s looking to soak up Liam’s body heat.  
  
“You’re always so bloody cold,” he says into the dark. “Probably just invited me here to leech off my warmth.”  
  
“Guilty,” Zayn says, and they both snort a little in half-hearted amusement. After a moment’s silence, Zayn says, “You sure you’re holding up, Li?”  
  
“Holding up how?”  
  
“I mean—is there anything you need to talk about?”  
  
“I . . .” Liam stares up at the dark ceiling. “How can you be worried about me at a time like this? I mean, who really cares?”  
  
“I do,” Zayn says softly, reaching for Liam’s hand under the covers. “I care, babe.”  
  
Liam draws in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He squeezes Zayn’s hand just a little, and Zayn squeezes back like a reassurance that he’s still there.  
  
“I think I’m okay,” Liam says finally. “I think I’m holding up okay. Like I said, though, everything’s changing. And I dunno what to make of it.” He looks over at Zayn’s shadowy face. “What about you? You all right?”  
  
Zayn snorts. “I mean, no, not really. I’m worried. I’m scared as fuck. But I—I dunno. I believe in us.” He squeezes Liam’s hand again, gently. “I believe in this.”  
  
“But you’re still not okay?”  
  
Zayn lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Don’t think I’ve ever been okay, Li. At the risk of sounding a bit pathetic and dramatic and self-pitying.”  
  
“You don’t,” Liam says as sincerely as he can, “sound like that, I mean. I get it. I mean, I don’t get it, because, like, I don’t know what it’s like, but—I understand.”  
  
He expects Zayn to tell him that means the same thing, but Zayn just stays silent for a minute before saying, “I know what you mean. Thanks.”  
  
“Yeah.” Liam rolls over to face him, gets a whiff of Zayn’s body wash, soapy and spicy and smelling faintly of vanilla, a mix that would’ve been feminine or just odd on someone else, but somehow fits Zayn in a way Liam can’t quite put words on. “Think Harry and Louis’ll be all right? Haz was pretty upset. With Louis, especially.”  
  
“They’ll be fine.” Zayn’s words are heavy with exhaustion. “They’ll always be fine. Harry and Louis are, by definition, fine. I just wish they would hurry the fuck up and snog each other before one of them goes crazy.”  
  
Liam nearly chokes. “You really think they will, then? It’s not just, like, some passing thing?”  
  
Zayn snorts, but pats Liam’s hand warmly. “They’ve been gone for each other for years, babe. They’re a bit oblivious, yeah, but it’s not—they know what they want. It’s not, like . . . confusing. Not like—some things.”  
  
Liam’s got no idea what he’s talking about, but somehow, he understands. 

  


When Zayn wakes up, Liam’s not beside him, and there’s a flatness in the air like someone’s died. The comparison springs to his mind before he can even panic that maybe someone did, and the minute he takes a second to think about it, he’s out of bed and hurrying out of the bedroom, blinking sleep from his eyes and crushing panic down in his throat.  
  
Harry and Louis are the only ones in the kitchen, and there’s undeniable tension between them.  
  
“Is everything okay?” Zayn demands. “Where’s the other boys?”  
  
“Yes,” Louis says, and the exact same time Harry says, “No,” and then they both chorus, “They’re at the gym.” They give each other cautious, vaguely unfriendly glances and then Louis promptly buries his nose in his cup of tea to mutter at it in a sort of antagonistic way that, though Zayn can’t catch the individual words, is probably directed at Harry.  
  
“Why’s Liam at the gym? He’s hurt,” Zayn says, because there’s not much else he can say.  
  
“Says he’s feeling loads better,” Louis said. “Harry had a look at his shoulder, and apparently it’s looking a lot better too. And he promised not to do any weight lifting.”  
  
“Yeah, he fucking better not,” Zayn mutters. “Is there coffee?”  
  
“Yeah. Should still be hot.”  
  
Harry’s still not saying a word, but the tenseness in his shoulders—the tenseness in the whole damn room, in fact—tells Zayn that the conversation last night didn’t go too well.  
  
“Well, I hope they hurry up and get back, because we need to talk,” Zayn says, pouring himself a mug of coffee and cradling it with the tenderness of a parent holding their first-born child. Thank fuck for caffeine. “About Simon. And stuff.”  
  
“Yeah, and stuff,” Harry says. It would have been a nasty tone if Zayn didn’t know that Harry’s basically incapable of being nasty. It is a little bitter, though, and Zayn winces, knowing that Louis’ probably doing the same behind his back.  
  
“You guys all right?” he asks easily, sliding into a chair at the beat-up kitchen table and trying to ignore the weight that’s in his stomach.  
  
“Sure,” Harry says in a voice a pitch too high. “I’m fine.”  
  
“I’m doing fucking fantastic,” Louis says, and yeah, his voice is definitely bitter.  
  
“All right, then.” Zayn takes a sip of his coffee, knowing that he’s not going to get anything else out of either of them while they’re both in the room. “I’m glad to hear that.”  
  
There’s a long, tense, awkward silence, during which Zayn drinks his coffee faster than is strictly necessary in order to avoid talking, and then Louis mutters, “Oh, fuck this,” and strides out of the room, shoulders hunched.  
  
Harry watches him go with this soap-opera tragic kind of look on his face and then turns away, annoyed and seemingly hurt.  
  
“You guys had a disagreement, yeah?”  
  
“He doesn’t want to save Simon,” Harry says in a rush, and Zayn knew he would spill easily. “I mean, he thinks we shouldn’t go. That’s crazy. We can’t just let him die.”  
  
“It probably doesn’t help with all the repressed romantic and undoubtedly sexual feelings between the two of you,” Zayn says casually, and Harry nods thoughtfully, and then jolts.  
  
“Hey—no, that’s not how it is at all, Zayn.”  
  
“Sure,” Zayn says. “Sure.”  
  
Thankfully—or maybe unfortunately—Niall and Liam come bursting in through the door at that moment, robbing either of them of the need to say anything else.  
  
“Oh, you’re back,” Harry quickly says, obviously relieved. “How was the gym?”  
  
“Think my shoulder’s really getting better,” Liam says as Niall dashes off, probably to claim first shower. “Doesn’t throb like it was a couple days ago.”  
  
“That’s good,” Zayn says. After a moment’s hesitation, he adds, “Did you tell Niall about the deal?’  
  
Liam’s broad shoulders sag a little. “I did, yeah.”  
  
Zayn smoothes his good hand over Liam’s good shoulder. Don’t they make a good couple, both half-broken. Except how is he fooling himself like this—they’re a long way from a couple, and Liam’s anything but broken, and Zayn passed half-broken long ago, has been living the “complete shattered” zone for years. He forgets how to breathe for a moment, crushes down his feelings with an iron fist because _he can’t feel anything right now_ , can only be thinking about how to fix this. Thinking about Liam like—like—like anything will only break things further. He needs to kill whatever small sapling of emotion this is. It’s nothing important, surely.  
  
“And?”  
  
“He—he’s angry. I think. He snapped one of the weights in half, so, like.”  
  
Zayn inhales. Exhales. Takes his hand off Liam’s shoulder. There’s still that flatness in the air, that deadness that reminds him exactly how fucked up things are right now.  
“If you’ve stopped flirting,” Harry says, “I bought juice last night, Liam, if you want it.”  
  
“Nah, had some before I left,” Liam says after a notable pause, and Zayn files that away as _he’s surprised that anyone would ever think you’re flirting, because the two of you are obviously just good friends, and even though you fucking love him, you would never let that—_  
  
Zayn freezes.  
  
Ah, yes. That little thing he never meant to say, or even think.  
  
_You love him.  
_  
_You love him  
_  
_I love him.  
_  
As if this mess needed something else to fuck it up even further. 

  


They agree to have a meeting about the whole Simon and Ben situation in the evening, after everyone’s had time to think it over and get a solid defense for their opinion, and, as Niall said, get some food in their bellies. True to his word, Niall spends the entire day in the front of the TV with a bowl of crisps, flicking through the channels and singing under his breath in a way that Liam knows means he’s beside himself with nerves. Louis barely comes out of his bedroom, which Liam takes to mean that he and Harry have been fighting. Zayn’s jittery and somehow desperate looking, but he shrugs off Liam’s attempts at comfort and spends about three hours outside smoking and looking like a broody model in a fucking photo shoot, because apparently even when he’s upset, Zayn can’t help but be ridiculously attractive. But, like, objectively so. Just from a neutral, platonic standpoint.  
  
Liam can’t believe himself sometimes.  
  
For his own part, Liam spends the day in Harry’s room, trying to get the younger boy to tell him what happened between him and Louis. Harry, being Harry, is gracious and happy for company, but other than “Louis thinks we shouldn’t rescue Simon,” Liam can’t get much out of him. And even though it’s entirely possible that the fight was nothing more than that, Liam can’t help but pester Harry about it. Mainly because he doesn’t want to sit down and think over his own opinions and feelings. Looking at himself isn’t something Liam’s ever been very good at. He prefers dealing with other people’s problems. It’s less exhausting, and a hell of a lot less confusing. But Liam digresses.  
  
“You sure it’s just, like, that, then?”  
  
“For the hundredth time, yes.” Harry’s playing something on his phone, some app where you have to swirl your finger over the screen to create little ripples of color. It looks like a calming exercise. Maybe Liam should get this app.  
  
“Not, like, you guys are having a secret lovers’ spat?”  
  
Harry looks up at him with a vaguely hurt expression. “Have you been talking to Zayn?”  
  
“Not about you two.”  
  
Harry purses his lips and look back down at his phone. “Well, he said something very similar. Only it involved sexual frustration as well.”  
  
Liam snorts. “He didn’t say anything to me about that.”  
  
Harry’s silent for a minute, exiting his game and then flopping back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. He hesitates a moment before saying softly, “Is it really that obvious, then?”  
  
“Well . . .” Liam’s not sure what stage of denial Harry’s currently in, so he doesn’t want to push it, but the fact still remains that yeah, Harry and Louis have always been, well—harryandlouis, and the idea of them being any less wrapped into each other is a little ridiculous.  
  
“I don’t really know what I feel,” Harry mumbles. “And, like, I’ve thought about it a lot, and stuff, and I just can’t quite figure myself out, yeah? But—I know that what I feel for him, it’s—it’s not what I feel for you. Or for Zayn. Or for Niall. It’s something different.”  
  
It’s something different. It’s something more hesitant. It’s something brighter and fuller and more complete, somehow, something breathless and addictive and frightening. It’s something like the sun rising in your chest when you know there should only be a candle there, like waking up in the middle of the night, jolting out of a falling dream only to find someone’s arms around you.  
  
Nothing Liam’s thinking is making sense, but he knows Harry knows. _It’s something different.  
_ “Do you think that maybe—maybe you can have—a friend, but like, somehow—no.” Liam rubs at his eyes. “That’s not what I mean to say. I meant, like, sometimes feelings are confusing.” He glances at the window, where he knows that if he craned his neck just a little, he would be able to see Zayn hunched over his cigarette, shoulders tightly drawn against the wind. “Sometimes I think it’s like—” But he breaks off, because he’s not even sure who he’s talking about anymore, here, but he does know that he’s not exactly sure what it’s like. Only that it is.  
  
“No,” Harry says, eyes flickering to Louis’ closed door. “I know what you mean.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. I mean it’s just—why can’t some things be easy?” Harry says plaintively. “Why can’t life be easy? Why does this sort of shit happen?”  
  
“What sort of shit? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot of shit going on at the moment.”  
  
“Just—everything. Like Simon being gone. And some prick being out for our blood. Or shit like what’s happened to Zayn. Like, Zayn, yeah? Good lad. Always been here for me, for Niall, for you, for—for Lou. But the some of the worst stuff in the world’s happened to him. He doesn’t deserve that, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Liam says cautiously, because he’s not sure if Harry’s actually going somewhere with this, or whether he’s just ranting about life because he’s upset.  
  
“Or, like, you not having any superpowers. You deserve some. And pricks like this Ben character definitely don’t. Or like—like falling. Like falling for your best mate.”  
  
“D’you really think—”  
  
“That m’gone for him?” Harry laughs. It would have been bitter had it come from anyone else. “Li. C’mon.”  
  
“I was going to say,” Liam says evenly, “do you really think he doesn’t love you back?”  
  
Harry’s very quiet for a moment. “Do you really think I know what he thinks? It’s Louis, Liam, come now. No one knows what he’s thinking. Except maybe Zayn, and that’s only cause he’s known him the longest, and also because he can read minds. Maybe Louis loves me. Maybe I’m just his mate. Who knows?”  
  
_Am I allowed to tell him?_ Liam’s a little apprehensive about spilling the beans, because he’d heard it from Zayn and not first hand, and also because maybe it was a secret for a reason or something. But he’ll be damned if he sits around and watches this mess wreck its havoc unchecked, so he turns on his side to face Harry and says, “Look, remember that night you and Zayn and Louis went to the club?”  
  
“Yeah, sure.”  
  
“Well, I have something to tell you.”

  


Zayn’s having a panic attack on Louis’ floor. Well, technically, it isn’t Louis’ floor, it’s Simon’s, because Simon is the one who pays for the flat, but he’s in Louis’ room, so it’s sort of Louis’ floor. But the panic attack is the important bit. Because after his very abrupt realization this morning, he sort of needs some time to lay down and worry his way through the problem he has in front of him.  
  
_I can’t be in love with him. I’m not—it’ll hurt too much.  
  
_ _You’ll never be allowed to have something that perfect, someone that beautiful and whole.  
  
_ _You don’t even really know whether he likes blokes.  
  
_ Because nine months ago, they’d all confessed their sexualities at Louis’ prompting in a half drunken game of Never Have I Ever. And Louis and Harry had giggled their way through _gay, mate, gay as fuck, and hey, have we ever thought of hooking up? No? Why the fuck not?_ and Zayn had taken a shot and confessed his bisexuality, and Niall had crowed _straight as an arrow_ , and Liam had just mumbled that he wasn’t sure, that he was still looking, but that maybe he’d like blokes, if he met the right one.  
  
Zayn would give anything to be the right one, he thinks, but he knows he’s not. Not in a million years. Liam’s brave and strong and glowing—Liam’s like the fucking sun—and Zayn’s . . . well, he’s Zayn. He’s broken and scarred up, and sometimes he thinks he looks like a Tim Burton drawing, all skinny limbs and sharp angles and too-dark eyes. No one—let alone someone like Liam—would fall for a former hooker who couldn’t even sleep without screaming into his pillow because of the nightmares (except when Liam’s there to hold them at bay, but Zayn’s definitely not gonna think about that).  
  
“I can literally hear you shitting on yourself down there.”  
  
Zayn doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. “Surprisingly, I haven’t quite reached the point in my life where I feel the need to shit my pants on my best mate’s bedroom floor. Shocking, I know. I actually still have some dignity intact.”  
  
“I meant figuratively shitting on yourself. Down-talking yourself. Being _self-deprecating_ ,” Louis finishes with enthusiasm, like “self-deprecating” is a word he’s proud of knowing, or something.  
  
“Then shut the fuck up and let me do it in peace,” Zayn says, because there’s no point in denying that’s precisely what he’s doing. “Sulk about Harry not talking to you, or something, you shit.”  
  
“Be nice. The privilege of shitting on yourself while laying on my floor is one I could take away, you know.” Louis pauses. Zayn still doesn’t open his eyes. “I don’t suppose I’m allowed to know what you’re all brooding about?’  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Did you have a nightmare?” he asks, his voice going soft.  
  
“No. And I wish everyone would stop making such a huge deal over my fucking nightmares. They’re dreams. That’s it.”  
  
“I know they’re not just dreams, Zayn. I know you lived through that shit.”  
  
“Well, I don’t want to talk about it. And it wasn’t a dream.”  
  
“Suit yourself.” Louis flops back down on the bed and keeps doing whatever it is that he’s doing on his phone.  
  
The door bursts open with a dramatic bang that would have rivaled a gunshot. Zayn automatically flinches and throws up an arm to protect his face, more as an instinct than a real precaution. Louis’ on the bed, in plainer view. Whoever’s coming in here to go off at someone will unload on him first, probably.  
  
“Is it true?” Harry says in the most melodramatic voice Zayn’s ever heard, and he’s watched soap operas with Niall, for God’s sake.  
  
“Is what true?” Louis says cautiously.  
  
“What Liam told me? About the night at the club?”  
  
Zayn makes a mental note to personally kill Liam for telling him.  
  
“What—I—” Louis draws himself up haughtily, something he only does when he knows he’s been busted. “I am sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Harold.”  
  
“Liam said Zayn said you said _you love me._ ”  
  
Well. There it was. No going back now.  
  
“I—listen, Harry, I really—I really love our friendship, yeah, and I—” Louis sends Zayn a desperate look, and Zayn just gives him a vaguely encouraging smile.  
  
“Is it true?” Harry strides over to sit on the edge of Louis’ bed and grabs both of Louis’ hands, a sort of poignant urgency in his motions that was belied by how gentle he was when he touched the older boy. “Louis. Please.”  
  
“I just—I was drunk, right? And I just—I mean I—Haz, look, please, I don’t want us—or like, things to be awkward because of—”  
  
“Do you love me?” Harry looks more focused than Zayn’s ever seen him in his life; he’s looking Louis like the entire universe hangs on his answer. “Do you?”  
  
“I—” Louis’ fucked now, and he knows it. “Yes,” he says with this reckless abandon that sounds like someone who’s just jumped off a cliff or out of an airplane, someone who’s swallowed down his fear and knows there’s no going back. “Yes, I fucking love you, and I’ve been in love you with for years, and I can barely look at you sometimes, Haz, because you’re so fucking beautiful, and all I want is for you to be mine, and I--”  
  
Harry leans forward and kisses him. Zayn scrambles to his feet and backs out of the room.  
  
“Okay. Okay—I’ll just—yeah. Have fun.” He quickly shuts the door and waits for a moment, just long enough to hear Harry’s battle cry of _“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, you idiot?”_ before ducking into his bedroom and struggling with something half like tears and half like laughter.  
  
At least something’s going right in this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was fun. Hope you liked the melodramatic Larry bit at the end. I kinda want to slap everyone in this fic around the head and tell them to come to terms with the fact they're all in love with each other, but face it, it wouldn't be half as much fun if I did that.  
> The response to supervillian!Ben was extremely gratifying. I totally loved the idea when I came up with it, and I'm glad you guys did too. I assure you he will show up again to flaunt his assholery again soon.  
> Also, did I promise you guys more about Liam's superpowers in this chapter? Yes? No? I can't remember, and I'm too lazy to check. Buuuut I didn't really follow through on that, so sorry if I did. I got sidetracked by emotions. Feelings. Love. That sort of thing. We had a bit of that, though.  
> Anyway, I'm done rambling. Leave me comments and kudos and love. I'm just a sad writer trying to make her way in the world. And i love you all. Truly. Best readers ever. Okay, see you next chapter.  
> (also remember when this was going to be 10 chapters? lol. haha. not happening.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ook, so, sorry this is so late! I went to Boston over the weekend and didn't take my computer, which threw off my writing schedule, and everything just sort of went downhill from there. But here is a long, emotionally satisfying chapter which I've done my best to edit and everything for you guys, so hopefully it was worth the wait.  
> Shoutout to the Bostonians, though. Your city is awesome, just saying.  
> More info and stuff after the chapter. Yay. All usual disclaimers apply and stuff. You know the drill.

Deciding to go on a rescue mission is easy. At least, it’s easy after Louis and Harry have spent an hour with their tongues down each other’s throats, and aren’t in the mood to really argue about it anymore. Harry puts up a token fight, but he quickly sees the flaws in just giving themselves up without a struggle.  
  
Liam’s just mainly worried. And confused. He wishes that for once, he could be calm about things, could just make up his mind and stick to it rather than having to pick over everything a hundred times. And frankly, he’s pretty fucking sick of being worried and tired and confused all the time, and he’s sick of panic attacks, and he’s just really sick of everything. He thinks it shows in his face, because Niall’s a little more clingy than usual, continuously running his fingers down Liam’s arm when they talk things over at the kitchen table, whispering rough comforts in his ear. Harry and Louis are too wrapped up in each other to notice, and Zayn’s still subdued and nervous, curled up into himself with downcast eyes.  
  
Thank God for Niall, honestly.  
  
“Okay, so this is what we have so far,” Louis says, tapping open the notes on his phone, where he’s been keeping track of what they’ve been over so far (when he wasn’t too busy giving Harry the soppiest looks of adoration known to mankind). It’s a strangely organized gesture for Louis, though—usually it’d be something Liam would do, but Liam’s too scatter-brained at the moment, and maybe being a taken man makes you more systematic or something. “We know that Ben’s offered us a deal. Said deal requires us to go to him and willingly give up our powers in exchange for Simon’s life. We don’t know if he’s taken Simon’s powers yet, but it’s likely. We don’t know what the side effects of him taking our powers will be, or if we’ll even survive it. We’re fairly sure that the deal is bullshit, though, because his plan doesn’t make much sense, because it’d be easier and safer for him to just kill us and Simon.”  
  
Louis looks up for confirmation of his points, and there’s a weak murmur of assent. Louis nods magnanimously and continues:  
  
“We don’t know if Simon’s still alive, or what Ben plans to do with the gang once he’s taken us out and has undisputed control of it. Judging from his stereotypically Disney-villain evilness, though, he probably plans to take over the world and enslave all of humanity that dares to resist him. If we hold up our end of the deal and give up our powers, we will probably be leading said resistance.”  
  
“Um—not too sure about that last bit,” Liam says drily. “I mean, we don’t know his intentions for sure.”  
  
Louis looks at him scornfully and sniffs. “Were you not listening to me? I said _probably_ , Liam, _probably_. That’s what he’s _probably_ planning to do. Judging on his behavior.”  
“I mean, I wouldn’t even say _probably_ , Lou, more like—”  
  
“Are you __quite finished?” When Liam decides to let it go, Louis nods approvingly and looks back down at his notes. “Okay, so, we’ve decided that a rescue mission is going to be the best option, yeah? There’s no better way to do this?”  
  
“Seeing as the other option is handing ourselves in to most likely die, yeah, I’d say we’ve really only got one option here, whether it’s the best way or not,” Niall says with a shrug, biting at the nails of the hand that’s not resting on Liam’s arm. “The only option we’ve got is to try and pull him out.”  
  
Louis claps his hands and slaps his phone down on the table, making Niall and Zayn both jump at the noise. “Brilliant. Well, young Harold and I—”  
  
“It’s Harry, and I’m not that much younger than you,” Harry says automatically.  
  
“—Young Harold and I have some time to be catching up on, so if you’ll excuse us . . .” Louis grabs Harry’s hand and pulls him towards his bedroom with indecent enthusiasm.  
  
“Putting out so soon?” Zayn calls. “Louis, you slag, I’m so proud of you.”  
  
“Everything I know I learned from you, dearest,” Louis sing-songs, grabbing the doorknob with a shit-eating grin.  
  
“Anyone want earplugs tonight?” Niall says once the door closes.  
  
Liam frowns. “How do you just have earplugs with you?”  
  
The other boy shrugs with a half-grin. “Eh, saw this comin’ for a while, t’be honest. Figured they’d be loud fuckers.” His smile widens at the look on Liam’s face. “So, earplugs?”  
  
“I think—think I’ll be good, actually,” Liam says after a minute. “I’ll just—put me earbuds in.”  
  
“Fantastic.” Niall stands up abruptly and yanks open the fridge door, causing the entire fridge to fly forward two feet. “Sorry, sorry.” He picks it up like it’s just a large empty box and carefully sets it back in its original place before reopening it to dig out two containers of Chinese takeout that Liam’s about ninety percent sure are too old to eat. “I’ll be in the living room watching the Kardashians if you need me.” He opens one box and peers inside, making a satisfied noise. “Apparently Kim’s havin’ another baby; can’t miss that, now can I?”  
  
“You never cease to amaze me,” Zayn says.  
  
Niall just winks and stumbles off to the sofa, some catchy Taylor Swift tune bouncing off his lips through a mouthful of food.  
  
“Our Nialler’s sure something else,” Liam sighs, glancing over at Zayn. Something swoops a little deep in his stomach, and his breath hitches. _Why can’t I even look at you anymore?_ Maybe it’s because Zayn looks tired under the dim kitchen light, shadows pooling under his eyes and skimming over his too-sharp cheekbones where his lashes cast sharp black lines against his skin, heartbreakingly beautiful even his exhaustion.  
  
Liam swallows tightly and looks away, a tangled thread of racing thoughts uncoiling in his head.  
  
“Niall? S’ppose so, yeah.”  
  
He jumps a little at the normalcy of Zayn’s reply juxtaposed with the strangeness of his own thoughts. Zayn quirks an eyebrow at him; Liam shrugs awkwardly in lieu of an explanation. He hears a muffle gasp from Louis’ room and immediately feels a little dirty, but the sentiment is threaded with something a little more bitter, something— _wait. Am I jealous of Harry and Louis?_  
  
The thought is a little horrifying in the fact that Harry and Louis are like his brothers, and despite their obvious objective attractiveness, he’s never contemplated anything more than friendship with either of them.  
  
_Why are they allowed something like that, but I’m not?_  
  
That’s the only thought in his head that makes anything even close to sense, so Liam settles for it. _I deserve a love like that, too, right?_ He’s just jealous of the way they found what they really needed under their very noses.  
  
Some people have to look a little farther. It’s not like there’s anyone secretly in love with him in this house.

  


Zayn has realized that loving Liam isn’t something he actively does. Realizing that he loves Liam isn’t like waking up and deciding to start breathing; it’s more like just becoming aware of the fact that he does breathe. It’s more like knowing that he’s always loved Liam, but he’s just started realizing it. And in a way, it’s a little relieving to know that Liam will never love him back, because he’s sure Liam deserves so much more than him. It’s almost good to know that Liam will find someone who’s just as good as he is, who knows more about love than the broken shards of loving their father, being brutally used for money, a few hook ups they can count on two hands, and four boys who gave them the only real love they’ve ever known. (And Zayn says _almost good_ , because something inside him feels selfishly despairing at the thought of never being able to call Liam his).  
  
Zayn does what he does best. He deals with it.  
  
He loses himself in endless planning and obsessing over the rescue mission with the other boys (it doesn’t hurt to look at Liam sometimes, no, not at all), and countless cigarettes, and even the scratch of pencil against paper, the tracing of feeble lines that he hasn’t scrawled out in years, the formation of proper superheroes, not broken ones like him, but the strong ones who could save the world, the ones he looked up to as a kid. He draws a series of figures that look suspiciously like Liam. He rips them up and draws them again. He tells himself to get over it.  
  
(He draws them again and again, and rips them up every time.)  
  
(He’s actually not dealing with this so well, because he’s only used to dealing with pain and brokenness and feeling worthless, and not facing the most beautiful thing in the world every damn day. He’s not used to dealing with love.)  
  
“Okay, Zayn, fess up. Spit it out. Spill some truth tea. Give me the scoop,” Louis says two days after they’ve officially decided to throw Ben’s deal in the bin. “What’s driving you mad, eh?”  
  
“Just—leave it, yeah? M’good.”  
  
“Really.” And damn Louis, with his discerning blue eyes and skeptic tone.  
  
“I’m _good_ ,” Zayn insists, dragging out his cigarette. “I’m always good.”  
  
“Like hell,” Louis says, snatching the cig and putting it to his own lips. “And no more of those for you, sir. You’ve smoked enough to ruin your lovely sexy voice in the past three days only and then where would you be?”  
  
“My lovely sexy voice,” Zayn repeats blankly, exhaling the last of the nicotine and eyeing Louis, waiting for an opportunity to snatch the cigarette back.  
  
“Yes, your lovely, sexy, melted-dark-chocolate-in-my-ears, albeit with a rather daft Northern accent, kind of voice. And I know,” Louis says slyly, sucking in a lungful of smoke, “how Liam loves your voice.”  
  
Zayn jolts a little but ignores him. Louis, being Louis, ignores nothing, and definitely catches the way Zayn tenses at Liam’s name.  
  
“Aha.” The smugness in his voice increases almost exponentially, and Zayn considers making a break for it before Louis goes in for the kill. He’s taller than Louis. That means he can run faster, right?  
  
“Well. It appears I have struck on the problem.” Louis looks him up and down. “Is it possible that my dear, emotionally constipated Zaynie has finally come out of his closet of denial?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up,” Zayn says roughly.  
  
“Now, I know it’s hard to come to terms with, but believe me, it is much better if you just face the issue head on,” Louis says.  
  
“Like you’d know. Haz was the one who made the moves for you two. You didn’t do shit.”  
  
“I beg to differ, Mister Malik. I made a drunken confession of love in the most dramatic manner possible, thereby enabling you to be the worst mate ever and tell Liam about it, thereby enabling Liam to be a goddamn hero and tell Harry about, thereby enabling my dear Harold to come and snog my face off while you were having an emotional constipation attack on my floor. You could really almost say that the whole thing was my doing.”  
  
“Why do you always compare my emotional state to various stages of defecation?”  
  
“You know you love me.” Louis stubs out the cigarette and grins at him. “Now, what’s the problem with Liam? Trying to decide if you’re in love with him? Trying to decide if he feels the same way? Trying to come to terms with the fact that you’re not a worthless piece of shit and actually do deserve love, contrary to what you’ve been told your entire life?”  
  
“That last bit,” Zayn says evenly, “was a little bit too real.”  
  
“Well, I—” Louis’ features abruptly fall and he makes an apologetic face. “Shit. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Well, I think I’ll go back inside. Want another cig?”  
  
Louis winces a little and shakes his head. “No, I’ll just be standing out here thinking about what a tactless little shit I am for the next two hours, possibly three.”  
  
Zayn snorts. “Y’aren’t that bad.”  
  
“Sure, sure. Go back inside to your love.”  
  
Zayn spins on his heel, shooting a one fingered salute at Louis over his shoulder.  
  
“I’m gonna make you sing that one song from _Hercules_ where Meg says she’s not in love when she’s really an absolute goner!” Louis shouts after him. “Come to think of it, you and Liam would make a fabulous Hercules and Megara. Just saying, if you wanted to try role playing or—”  
  
Zayn lets the door swing shut and bounds up the stairs to their flat floor two at a time, deciding, not for the first time, that Louis’ an absolute shit.

  


Okay, fine, whatever. Liam may have the tiniest, smallest, most miniscule crush on one of the boys. Maybe. Just maybe. Just, like, an aesthetic attraction, an appreciation of a very fine thing, if you will. And maybe he sort of really likes that person’s personality, too, maybe he feels just the tiniest sprouts of fondness when he hears that person talk, sees their eyes light up when they love something; maybe he feels the most insignificant twinge of regret at the thought that that something is not him. And, yeah, okay, maybe he’d rather spend fucking days talking to this person rather than doing anything else, or maybe he feels the sun rise and set in his chest when they touch, or maybe falling for someone is sort of like slipping under still water—you do it almost unconsciously until you realize that all the breath has left your lungs and there’s no way to stop yourself from going down.  
  
(And maybe that someone is Zayn; yeah, maybe he’s sort of stupidly in love with Zayn, and maybe it hurts just a little to know that Zayn isn’t ever going to love him like that.)  
  
_But anyway._  
  
Liam can ignore these sort of things. Back at home, when he was just a scrawny secondary schooler with a heart the size of the moon, and the unstoppable urge to give it away to the first girl who even looked at him, he’d asked plenty of girls out. Got turned down plenty of times too, so he was well used to being rejected. And then he’d grown up and learned that most people aren’t going to fall for a daft lad with a headful of stupid anxieties and a passionate love for comic books and a fondness for stupid jokes. So he’s good at holding his feelings somewhere deep in his head and ignoring them. Hopefully, this whole thing with Zayn will be nothing more than a passing fancy. (Something whispers that he knows that’s not true, that Zayn’s far too—well, far too Zayn to get over any time soon. But Liam’s good. He’s cool. He’s got this.)  
It doesn’t help that Zayn seems tense around him lately, always darting out of the room to smoke a pack or slip into his room. Sometimes Liam thinks it’s just the impeding mission; sometimes there’s a part of him that worries that Zayn knows somehow, that he’s given himself away through word or action, or even worse, that Zayn’s read his mind for some reason, and can see how stupidly gone for him Liam is. And it’s not that Liam thinks that Zayn would make fun of him or something—maybe the older lad would be tactful enough to simply never mention it, even—but if it was ever to come up, Liam’s not sure how well he’d be able to take Zayn’s soft rejection, a simple _not like that_ cloaked in Zayn’s graceful words and soft honey-brown eyes and warm, shy smile. Because there’s no doubt that Zayn would let Liam down gently. Liam just doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle being let down at all.  
  
So he just sort of keeps his racing, tangled-up thoughts in his own head and tries not to bother Zayn that much, just sort of keeps himself to himself, feeling confused and scared and really off-color (and he’s not sure whether it’s because of Zayn or because of Simon or because of his powers that are supposedly coming in. Maybe a bit of all of them). And not surprisingly, because Zayn’s usually the first to notice when Liam’s upset, and they haven’t been talking much, and because Harry and Louis are much too busy celebrating their little spot of love and happiness in the eye of the storm to think about much else, Niall, God bless him, is the only one to notice. Consequently, Liam spends a lot of time at the gym and on the sofa watching reality TV and eating. Niall doesn’t try to annoy the problem out of him like Louis or have a heart-to-heart like Harry, and he certainly doesn’t just instinctively know like Zayn would. But he doesn’t ask Liam what’s upsetting him—maybe just figuring it’s the general stress of the times they’re living through—and it’s just what Liam needs, somehow.  
  
But spending all his time with Niall means spending a good deal of time drinking as well, and so really he should have been expecting that he’d end up drunk on the sofa at some point. Because apparently that’s what you do when you have less than a month to live before undertaking a crazy suicidal rescue mission, a hopeless crush on one of your best mates, a willing listener, and a fuck ton of really strong alcohol.  
  
“S’no way y’not drunker ‘n I am,” Liam says, trying to prounounciate—pronounce— _enunciate_ his words clearly. “Y’have way more loads to drink, Nialler.”  
  
Niall just shrugs, swigs his beer, blows Liam’s character straight off the screen like it’s nothing. Liam’s half of the telly flashes _you have died: game over_ in red block letters. “Not quite as drunk as you yet, Li. Give me another fifteen minutes and I’ll be right with ya.”  
  
“S’not fair,” Liam mumbles, because apparently having super-strength also lets you hold your liquor like a champ, and while Liam really doesn’t look like a lightweight, he really fucking is.  
  
“Lotsa things that aren’t fair, Payno,” Niall says in that bluntly philosophical way he has, leaning back for the remote. “Done with the game, yeah? Think y’too drunk to put up a good fight.”  
  
“Probably.” Liam’s starting to feel the room spin. God, he’s pathetic. Getting drunk on the sofa at twenty-one when he should have a girlfriend, a military posting, or at least a solid job. Instead he’s landed himself with the most dangerous profession on the planet—and he doesn’t even get to have the sick-ass powers to deal with it—and he’s crushing on his best mate, and he’s getting drunk for no reason on his sofa at two in the morning with his other best mate. He’s quite possibly the least put together person he knows.  
  
“Y’know,” he says, “S’not where I thought I’d be a few years ago.”  
  
Niall snorts. “Well, a few years ago, I was getting’ready to go to uni. Sound engineering, it was. Pretty sick, right? Finishing up me A levels n’ everything. All ready to go. Y’know what happens then, Li?”  
  
“You find out you can rip the door off a car like it’s tissue paper,” Liam guesses. The room is really starting to spin now.  
  
“Bingo.” Niall’s probably getting a little bit more drunk now, because he makes a sound like a bell ringing. “Just like that. Shove the wall of me house in. Bam.”  
  
“Bam,” Liam repeats numbly.  
  
“Can’t go to uni after that, can I? So I hightail it off to London, cause that’s where y’go if y’wanna fit in somewhere, right? And Simon finds me somehow, and here I am. And m’happier with you lads than I woulda been doing sound engineering. Doesn’t have to be like you pictured for it to be good, Li.”  
  
“No, no, I know,” Liam says quickly, the words stumbling over each other in their haste to leave his mouth, “just like, I never thought—” he waves a hand “—all this.”  
  
“I feel ya, mate.”  
  
“Don’t think you do, though,” he says, the heavy taste of the liquor still lingering on his tongue making him bold, “cause y’not in love with Zayn.”  
  
He expects Niall to be at least a little surprised, but Niall just chugs down about half his bottle in one swig and mutters, “Knew I had to be the only straight one in this fucking flat.” Liam’s a little offended.  
  
“Y’could at least pretend like it’s shocking,” he says crossly. “S’big news for me, all right.”  
  
“Oh, mate, I know, I know,” Niall says, patting his shoulder. “Only, like—sometimes, when the two of ya look at each other—I had me suspicions.”  
  
“Dunno,” Liam mutters, scrubbing at his eyes. He’s suddenly just tired. He wants to go to bed and sleep for the next two months, until this is all over. “Don’t think he loves me, Niall. Not like that, anyway.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I mean that you’re an idiot and so is he. Don’t need any mind reading powers to see that, now, do I.”  
  
“Mind reading?” And because the universe honestly, sincerely hates Liam, it’s Zayn’s voice that speaks from somewhere behind them. “You lads need me to do you a favor?”  
  
“No,” Liam says quickly, before Niall can open his mouth. “Go to bed, Z. Zayn. Zaynie. Lovely, lovely Zaynie.”  
  
“Are you drunk?” Zayn says, coming around the sofa to peer at him in the light of the telly.  
  
“No.” Niall and Zayn both give him incredulous looks, and Liam quickly amends, “Well, maybe?”  
  
“Payno’s a fuckin’ lightweight,” Niall grumbles, standing up. “M’ going to bed. You can deal with the mess that used to be Liam because I’m tired and you love him.” He stands up, failing to notice the sound of distress Liam makes. Liam thinks he sees Zayn tense at Niall’s last words, but doesn’t say anything. “Good night.”  
  
“Night,” Zayn says, turning back to Liam. “All right, you’ve dealt with my drunk ass, suppose it’s only fair for me to have to deal with yours. Up we come, babe.”  
  
He hauls Liam to his feet, and Liam willingly tries to cooperate as much as possible, but ends up tripping them both up. They land on the sofa, tangled together in a soft pile of limbs. Zayn sighs. Liam giggles apologetically.  
  
“Zaynie, sorry, babe—”  
  
“No, no, you’re good, yeah? Just—up on y’feet, now, there we go . . .”  
  
Somehow, they get to Liam’s bedroom safely, and Zayn helps Liam out of his clothes. It would’ve been sexy under different circumstances, but as it is Liam just feels a little embarrassed and—noodly. He says as much to Zayn.  
  
“Noodly, babe?”  
  
“All limp, like.”  
  
Zayn makes a noncommittal sound, and then all of a sudden he’s stripping down to his boxers and crawling in the bed beside Liam.  
  
“What’re you doing?” Lima asks in mild alarm.  
  
“Is it—shit, I’ll go, I’ll leave, I’m sorry, I just thought—” He scrambles to get out of bed, but Liam catches his wrist and drags him back.  
  
“No, no, no, y’can stay.” He pats the top of Zayn’s head awkwardly. “Stay, Zaynie.”  
  
“I—okay. Just—I’m tired, yeah, but I was having—I couldn’t sleep. And you somehow—like—I can sleep. When I’m with you.”  
  
“S’beautiful, Zayn,” Liam mumbles. “You . . . always so nice. To me.” He yawns, sleep beginning to devour him piece by piece. His eyelids are drooping. “Can we cuddle if you’re staying, then?”  
  
“All right,” Zayn says, and Liam, pleased, makes a small needy sound that he’s ashamed of even in his current state, and puts his arms out for Zayn to crawl into. Zayn slips into them and Liam nuzzles into his bare shoulder, the warm skin smooth against his except for where it’s traced over by the faint bump of a scar.  
  
“Love you, Zayn,” he says, already knowing he’ll hate himself in the morning for this.  
  
“I love you too, Leeyum,” Zayn says quietly, laying very still in Liam’s arms.  
  
“No, I love you—love y’to the moon—love you to the moon n’ back.” He hopes he got that right.  
  
“I know.” There’s a sad note to Zayn’s voice like _that’s not enough_.  
  
“No, y’don’t understand,” Liam insists. “It’s like—like—you know. You’re _Zayn_.”  
  
“Yeah, I know I am,” and now Zayn’s voice is just amused, and it frustrates Liam because honestly? Why does this have to be so hard? Why can’t a bloke just get in a proper love confession?  
  
Yeah, he may or may not be, like, super, super drunk. Fuck Niall, honestly. Fuck Niall and his ridiculously strong alcohol.  
  
“You’re Zayn, and I’m Liam, and I wish we could be zaynandliam,” Liam tries, and that’s honestly the best way he can put it right now. “We could be zaynandliam, but you don’t understand at all, Zayn.”  
  
“How bout y’go to sleep, now?” Zayn suggests, and for once, Liam decides to take him up on it.  
  
“Yeah, all right.” Liam cuddles down into the blankets, and decides that Zayn can stay here and be his cuddle buddy whenever he likes.  
  
“Good night, babe,” Zayn says softly, brushing his thumb over Liam’s cheek for a split second and then—so quickly Liam’s not entirely sure it even happens—kisses his cheek.  
  
Liam dies a little inside.  
  
And then, as if it wasn’t all enough to kill him already, he thinks he hears Zayn whisper, _“I think it’s you that doesn’t understand, babe,”_ right before he falls asleep.

  


Zayn wakes up in Liam’s bed. It’s kind of a terrible way to wake up, honestly, because he sort of needs to take a piss and also really wants a cigarette and also his fingers are itching to draw Liam when he’s asleep and quiet and vulnerable like this, but also Liam’s arms are strong and warm and _wrapped around him,_ and Zayn never wants to move again, ever. And because Zayn just really enjoys making himself feel like shit, apparently, he can just close his eyes for half a second and pretend like he has the right to wake up like this every morning, like he has the right to lean over and kiss Liam awake and call him his.  
  
“Holy fucking shit,” Liam suddenly croaks, and Zayn nearly leaps through the roof in shock.  
  
“I didn’t know you were awake.”  
  
“I wish I wasn’t awake,” Liam moans, blindly rolling over to bury his face in the pillow. (Zayn quietly mourns the loss of the heat of Liam’s arms around him).  
  
“Hangover?” he asks sympathetically.  
  
“Fucking Niall,” Liam says in lieu of a real answer. “I fucking hate him.”  
  
“Wasn’t him that drank it, babe.”  
  
“Oh, he drank it, all right. He’s just probably not feeling it.”  
  
Zayn swallows a laugh and pats Liam’s shoulder a little awkwardly. “Want some water or something?”  
  
“No,” Liam says. “I just want to sit here and _die._ ”  
  
“Little dramatic, innit?”  
  
Liam just lets out a groan and rolls back so that his face is buried in Zayn’s shoulder. “I feel utterly pathetic.”  
  
Zayn pets his hair a little and then presses his cold fingers into Liam’s temple. Liam lets out a soft whimper that does not make Zayn think fucking inappropriate things at all, no, of course not.  
  
“Do that again, fuck.”  
  
“Ice would probably be better, Leeyum.”  
  
“No! No, I want—I want you—to do it.”  
  
“Okay . . .” He holds his hands against Liam’s head again, and Liam makes an approving noise.  
  
“You’re a saint,” he says after a minute. “I have never been so grateful for you and your shitty circulation system.”  
  
Zayn snorts out a laugh. “Is it helping at all?”  
  
“Fuck yeah.”  
  
“I find that a little hard to believe.”  
  
Liam just shrugs a little, closing his eyes again. “True, though.”  
  
If Zayn had any sense of self-preservation at all, this would be a good time to get up, get Liam some ice, and go smoke a pack outside while trying to forget any of this every happened. But because he obviously got skipped over when they were handing out self-preservation at birth, he just sort of lays there. And hates himself for thinking about how terribly domestic this all is. And then hates himself for hoping his hands stay cold for the next two hours so they can just do nothing but lay here. And then hates himself for even thinking about anything, because they’re _mates_ , and mates do stuff for each other and this doesn’t have to mean anything but that Liam has a hangover and a headache.  
  
It doesn’t have to mean anything at all.

  


Liam’s shoulder mends faster than Zayn’s arm, which is weird, not only be he did, like, get _fucking shot_ , but also because it heals way faster than it should’ve. Or maybe it just feels like that, because when he’d first realized that his arm was going to be out of commission for a while, it felt like he’d never be able to use it again.  
  
The only upside to this is that he can go to the gym as much as he wants, which lets him feel useful, at least. Or a little useful, anyway, because if he’s not in shape physically, he’s basically useless, and he can’t bear the thought of not being able to go on the rescue mission with the boys. Even if they all die, he’d honestly rather die with them than be the only survivor at this point. The boys are his family. His brothers. Well, maybe not Zayn because that’d be a little creepy, but the point is that if he couldn’t fight with them—die with them if need be—he’s not sure that there’d even be a point to living. And he knows it sounds stupid and melodramatic, okay? He knows, and he also knows that the boys would probably take the piss out of him if he ever said something like that, but—it’s true. It’s true and he’s in too deep. In more ways than one.  
  
“Balls deep in Zayn, anyway,” Niall says cheerfully when Liam makes a comment along of the lines of being in too deep with the whole ridiculously superhero-y life. “Or wanting to be.”  
  
Liam chokes on air. “What the—”  
  
“Oi, I’m not as stupid as Zayn, yeah? Or as oblivious as Haz and Lou are right now.” He gives Liam a stern glance over the edge of his tea cup. “I mean, Tommo would probably be taking the mickey out of you two right now if he wasn’t wrapped up in Harry and Harry’s dick.”  
  
“Please stop.”  
  
“But with the way you two’ve been pinin’, even a blind bat would be able to see that the two of ya are arse over tits in love with each other. Not to mention that you _told_ me when you were drunk. Cause you’re a fuckin’ lightweight.”  
  
“Zayn’s not stupid.”  
  
Niall rolls his eyes. “Sure, he’s one of the smartest blokes I know when it comes to anything but his own damn feelings.”  
  
“Niall.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Please stop.”  
  
Niall grins wickedly and shrugs. “Just statin’ the obvious, Payno.”  
  
Liam drops his gaze and looks away, something swelling in his chest, hot and tight and a little bit painful. Painful in a good way, somehow. It feels like the beginnings of hope. “D’you really think Zayn—do you think Zayn likes me?”  
  
Niall throws up his hands and walks away.  
  
“Niall!”  
  
“You’re both so bloody blind you wouldn’t be able to see a neon sign in the dark,” Niall calls over his shoulder. “Why don’t you go down and ask him what he’s broodin’ about all the time in front of the fuckin’ flat building some day?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You know what I’m talking about, Payno,” Niall says, hands flying to his hips. “He’s been standing down there for hours every single fucking day for a week now, smokin’ his way to his grave and scaring off small children with his angsty smolder.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
Niall throws up his hands again and shuts his door.  
  
“You want me to _talk_ to him?” Liam yells. “I talk to him every day, Niall!”  
  
There’s no reply.  
  
“Fuck.”

  


“Mind if I stand with you, then?”  
  
Zayn looks up and sees Liam a few feet away, hands in his pockets awkwardly, squinting in the sun.  
  
“Course not.” He offers his pack to Liam out of courtesy more than the knowledge that the other boy will take one. Liam, true to form, quickly declined. “Any reason why y’want to be out here?”  
  
“I mean—it’s a nice day, yeah?”  
  
Zayn shrugs. “Suppose so, yeah.”  
  
Liam laughs stiltedly and shifts on his feet. “Yeah.” He flushes when Zayn quirks an eyebrow at him, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“Just—I—anything I should be sorry for, I suppose.”  
  
“Right.” He drags in a deep inhale, feeling the smoke coat the back of his throat. _I could forgive you for anything,_ he thinks, _even not loving me._  
  
“How d’you do it?” Liam blurts suddenly.  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Just—you never come off as stupid or awkward or—you never say stupid shit like I do, or—”  
  
Zayn blinks. “I just—you don’t say stupid shit, Liam.”  
  
It’s Liam’s turn to raise an eyebrow, this time incredulously.  
  
“Okay, fine, sometimes you say stupid shit, but it’s—it’s endearing, like.” And _oh, fuck, did he really just say that? Did he really have to go and say that?_  
  
“Endearing,” Liam repeats slowly, and Zayn winces to himself. So much for never saying stupid shit. And then, suddenly, like he can’t hold it in any longer: “Can you not say shit like that?”  
  
Zayn almost takes a whole step back. “I—sorry, I just—I didn’t mean, like—so much for me never saying dumb stuff,” he ends with a weak laugh, something inside him screaming _you fucked it up, he’s never gonna talk to you again, you fucked up the best thing you had, you piece of utter shit, what’ve you done now?_  
  
“No, no—just, I . . .” Liam looks down at his feet. “Can I start again?”  
  
“Uh—sure?”  
  
“Okay. Especially that bit about endearing, that didn’t come out how I meant it at all. I just, meant, like sometimes, it makes me feel like you . . . well, it's distracting, yeah?”  
  
“Right,” Zayn says.  
  
“Okay.” Liam draws in a deep breath. “Okay. I was talking to Niall a bit ago, yeah?”  
  
Zayn nods, stubs out his cig, and looks back up at Liam, everything inside him a jumbled, nervous mess.  
  
“And he said—wait, let me start with when we got drunk together. Okay. When we got drunk, I sort of told him something I didn’t plan to. Something about—about, just, like, someone. And then today, he sort of told me—well, he didn’t properly tell me, but he implied it, all right—he told me that that someone . . .” Liam lets out a long breath and looks up at the sky in frustration. Zayn thinks his heart has stopped beating.  
  
“Basically, what I’m trying to say here is that I really fucking fancy you, Zayn,” Liam says after a moment’s pause. “And I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way, but I think you’re brilliant and fit and just—amazing, yeah? And I couldn’t—I dunno, Niall made it seem like maybe you might want to know that? Like maybe you’d sort of fancy me, too? Although God knows why you would,” he adds with a self-deprecating little laugh.  
  
Zayn’s definitely sure his heart has stopped beating.  
  
Liam looks terrified, and Zayn’s not really sure why, because Liam’s obviously so much braver than he is, even now, when he can find the voice to actually fucking say something, when he can tell Zayn he likes him when all Zayn can do is just sort of stand here, frozen. His brain is just sort of stuck on _I really fucking fancy you,_ and nothing else in his head is making much sense. He kind of wants to shake Liam for _God knows why you would_ because how couldn’t he, when Liam is so much better than basically every other person on the planet in every way imaginable? (He’s not even exaggerating, here). Mainly, he kind of wants to kiss Liam until they’re both breathless, and maybe Zayn can slip a little _I love you_ in there when no one’s listening, just to release the tight, hot bottled up feeling in his chest, like there’s too much emotion trapped in there.  
  
“All right,” Liam says suddenly, looking down and pressing his lips together. “I—all right, then. S’okay, Zayn; you don’t—yeah. Sorry. I just—I’ll go. Leave you in peace and everything. Just forget I said anything, yeah? I—yeah, sorry.”  
  
He quickly turns on his heel and strides towards the door, fists clenched at his sides in the way Zayn knows means that Liam’s upset and embarrassed beyond belief. Zayn just sort of numbly watches him go for a few seconds before his body finally— _finally_ —catches up with his brain, and he’s running after the other boy, cigarette dropping forgotten to the ground.  
  
“ _Liam!_ ”  
  
Liam pauses, hand on the doorhandle, only half turning around with his shoulders hunched.  
  
“Y’don’t need to say anything, Zayn,” he says quietly. “It’s okay. I get it, yeah?”  
  
“No,” Zayn says, drawing up short in front of him and grabbing his arm so that they’re facing each other. “You fucking don’t.”  
  
Liam just sort of stands there, the arm Zayn’s got his hand around held awkwardly away from his body like he’s not sure whether or not to insist that Zayn let go.  
  
“Liam— _Leeyum_ —just listen.” Zayn looks up at him, takes in his unsure expression and the way his eyes dart over Zayn’s face, skimming over his eyes and pausing for the shortest second on his lips. Zayn thinks he might die. “I—fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to think—just my brain sort of short-circuited for a second, yeah? But I—” and suddenly Liam’s eyes widen a fraction, like he finally, finally gets it, and Zayn blurts out, “I really like you, Leeyum,” like he’s a bloody secondary schooler awkwardly asking a crush out with far too much hope and no filter.  
  
Then Liam’s eyes narrow a little. “But?  
  
“There’s not but,” Zayn says. “I just really like you. Like, I—yeah.”  
  
Liam’s mouth slowly starts to twist into a shy smile, and Zayn thinks he can feel the sun shining out of his chest. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” he whispers, “you’ve got no fucking idea how much, really.”  
  
Liam looks at him for a minute, searching his eyes like he’s waiting for it to be a joke, and then he looks away, a smile scrunching up his eyes, tucking his face into his shoulder. “Yeah?” he says again, like he’s trying to eliminate any possibility of doubt, his voice muffled by his shoulder.  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn repeats, a smile starting to spread across his own face, the daft one where he presses his tongue against his teeth, but he can’t even be bothered about how incredibly idiotic it makes him look.  
  
Liam looks up then, takes his hand off the doorknob, and reaches forward for Zayn. It’s only when he feels Liam’s hand, light and shaking a little against his waist that Zayn realizes—  
  
Liam straightens up suddenly, a frown crinkling his forehead.  
  
“This is—is this okay? You’re good if I—”  
  
“I’m good,” Zayn says quickly. “I’m amazing.”  
  
But Liam still has those crinkles, like he’s still not entirely sure Zayn wants this, so Zayn reaches up, steadies a hand on Liam’s shoulder, and tilts his face up like _come on then, Leeyum, come on_ and then—  
  
Liam closes the last centimeter of space between them, and Zayn thinks that if he’s not dead by now, he actually will be within the space of a few seconds, because even though he hasn’t had too many enjoyable experiences to judge from, he’s fairly sure that Liam is not only the best person in the world, but also the best kisser in the world. Liam must’ve been drinking tea before coming out here, because he tastes like peppermint and honey, and Zayn is actually, literally going to _die._  
  
When they pull away, Liam is smiling with his whole face, like he has the same sun Zayn feels near his heart rising in his own chest, and Zayn knows he still has that idiot grin on his face, but he still can’t bring himself to care.  
  
“So, like—you and me?” Zayn manages to get out, his tongue feeling clumsy and awkward over the words.  
  
“Yeah,” Liam says, “you and me.”  
  
They grin stupidly at each other for a few seconds before Liam suddenly says, “We should probably get out from in front of the door, though.”  
  
Zayn lets him usher them away from the entrance, choking down a sort of emotional half-laugh because only Liam would ever think of that sort of thing.  
  
“You good?” Liam asks, looking at him with this warm affection in his eyes that Zayn knows he’ll never be able to deserve by half. But something about the way Liam looks at him promises that everything is going to be all right, so he pushes the nagging, toxic thoughts to the back of his brain, even if he can’t manage to get them completely out of it, and tucks himself into Liam’s side.  
  
“I’m good,” he says. “I’m great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I'm in sort of a hurry, so I'm just gonna spew the info and take off: first off, I hope the Ziam kiss was satisfying and everything. The whole thing was a bit inspired by my own personal experiences with a close friend this week (now she's my girlfriend, I guess, which is like holy shit!!!) so I hope it turned out well.  
> I currently have a total of 15 chapters planned out, with a possible epilogue. If i stick to my plan (which I'm not great at doing oops), it should be done by chapter 15. We'll see about that. We are approaching the end, though. *wipes tear*  
> Okay, I think that's it?? I don't have much to say today, shockingly. Leave me comments and kudos and stuff. Yell at me to write more often. Wish me luck with my date tomorrow. Okay. I'm done. Hope you liked it!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, listen, I know this is so late, but I had finals, and I had to study, so this kinda took the backseat. Plus I really didn't want to rush this chapter, or, like, write it at two AM with my brain fried from finals, so even if it's late, I hope it'll be worth it. At least it's kinda long, although almost completely lacking in real plot. Yay me. I'm actually pretty nervous about publishing this chapter though yikes.  
> School's done now, so the last three chapters should come pretty quickly, because I've got it pretty well planned out from here.  
> Okay. All usual disclaimers apply. Enjoy.

Liam wakes up alone. Someone put a pillow between his arms instead of a warm body, but there’s no bony legs tangled with his, or dark hair flopping on his shoulder. It’s not the first time he’s fallen asleep with Zayn and then woken up to find him gone, but it is the first time Liam’s gone to sleep with Zayn’s lips soothing over his shoulder and slim fingers jumbled up with his. And waking up to empty, rumpled sheets isn’t a good feeling, even if they did nothing more than explore each other’s lips with wonderstruck shyness.  
  
He swings his legs out of bed and reaches over to pull a shirt on; he’s already wearing joggers, because by some unspoken agreement, they’d decided that they shouldn’t ruin the first few sweet, hesitant steps with something more. He sits on the edge of the bed for a minute, coming up with a million reasons why Zayn’s not next to him, trying to provide anything other than _he got too freaked out_ , or _he changed his mind_ , or _you scared him away_. For a second, he allows himself to feel like utter shit, but then he stands up and stumbles his way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.  
  
Zayn’s sitting on the counter, a mug of coffee beside him and a cereal bowl in his hand. He looks up when Liam walks in, a shy smile twisting up the corners of his mouth.  
  
“Hey, babe,” he says, and _oh God_ , it’s not fair that his voice is rough and deep with sleep when Liam wants to be a little angry with him for leaving. “I’m making tea for you, if you want it.”  
  
“Yeah, I want it.” Liam grabs the mug that’s brewing and comes to sit down next to Zayn. “It’s early for you to be up.”  
  
“Yeah, I woke up early and had to take a piss.”  
  
“Lovely.”  
  
Zayn shrugs, balancing the spoon inside his bowl so he can take a sip of coffee. “Innit, yeah. Then I was hungry and just figured I’d make some food.” He ducks his head a little. “Was gonna bring it to you, but you got up.”  
  
“Oh.” Liam can’t pretend like that doesn’t dissipate the rest of his remaining annoyance with Zayn. “I mean—y’didn’t have to.”  
  
Zayn just shrugs again. “I wanted to, though.”  
  
“It’s gonna take a little bit more than that to get in my pants, though, just a warning.”  
  
It’s a joke, but Zayn looks a little horrified. “Oh—no—Li, that wasn’t what I was trying to do at all, Liam, I—”  
  
“I know, babe, it was a joke.” Usually Zayn would have snickered at something like that, mainly because he can take sexual innuendos just as well as he can dish them out; Liam’s seen it happen often enough between him and Louis. “S’all cool.”  
  
“Okay, I know.” Zayn looks down at his coffee mug. “Just, like—I don’t wanna mess this up, yeah? Cause you’re bloody brilliant, and I’m—I’m just—well, I’ve never done this before. So like. I’m trying”  
  
“Never done what?”  
  
“Been with someone,” Zaym mumbles. “Not like, romantically, anyway. I—not beyond just shagging someone for a night and then moving on in the morning.”  
  
“You’ve never been with someone?”  
  
Zayn shakes his head very slightly. “Never had the chance to, did I.”  
  
“Oh.” Liam mulls this over for a while, and then realizes that he really doesn’t care how much experience Zayn has, because Zayn’s kind of amazing either way. “Well, that’s okay, yeah? We can, like, take it slow. I’ve never been with a bloke, if it makes you feel better.” He thinks for a second. “But, like—I think you’re pretty brilliant without even trying. I like you even when you’re not trying. I mean, you’re off to a pretty good start with the whole boyfriends thing, but you really don’t need to think that you need to do something more, or like, something better. We’re still us, we’re just—more us. I mean, we’re still mates, yeah? Like, I’m still the bloke you watch Marvel films with, but now we can just snog while we do it.”  
  
A slow smile spreads over Zayn’s face. “We went from being Zayn and Liam to being zaynandliam, but I’m still Zayn and you’re still Liam.”  
  
Liam groans. “I was really fucking pissed off my face that day, okay? Niall drinks some strong shit.”  
  
Zayn grins. “You’re an adorable drunk.”  
  
“I hate you,” Liam says without vehemence.  
  
Zayn doesn’t reply, just brushes his fingers over Liam’s when he reaches over to put his bowl in the sink. They grin at each other stupidly for a split second before they hear Niall’s voice say, “Oh my _fucking_ God.”  
  
They jerk apart just a little and Liam turns to face Niall, who’s standing in the doorway to his bedroom with a delighted expression on his face. “Have you two—did the two of you—” He points between the two of them with excitedly.  
  
“We made up, yeah.” Liam glances at Zayn, and Zayn rolls his eyes fondly in acceptance of Liam’s unasked question. “We’re sort of boyfriends.”  
  
“ _Sort of boyfriends_?” Niall’s entire face lights up and he sprints over to Louis’ bedroom door. “Tommo! Wake the fuck up!”  
  
“Wassup?” Louis’ tired voice says.  
  
“You owe me twenty quid!”  
  
“Ah, shit.” There’s a rustling noise, and then Louis appears in the door of his bedroom, bleary eyed and pissed off. After a single glance in Zayn and Liam’s direction, he rolls his eyes and gives Niall a conceding nod. “Couldn’t you two have waited like a few more weeks?”  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“We had a bet,” Niall says eagerly. “I bet that you two would get together this week, and Lou bet that you wouldn’t do it until one or two days before the mission. Obviously, I won.”  
  
“You were betting?” Zayn looks half amused and half annoyed.  
  
Louis snorts. “Listen, I totally thought there would be a dramatic confession of love in the face of impeding death. But _apparently not_ , because you two are too good at talking out your feelings.”  
  
Liam feels laughter building up in his chest.  
  
“I’ll give you your money at a decent hour. It’s too early to lose bets right now,” Louis tells Niall. “Have you two porked yet?”  
  
Liam can only shake his head, too busy with containing his laughter.  
  
“No,” Zayn gasps out.  
  
Louis turns to return to his bedroom, pointing at Niall before he disappears. “We should totally bet on when they’re gonna pork.”  
  
“You’re on, Tommo.”  
  
They shake on it, and then Niall leaves the flat for what Liam assumes is either the grocery store or the gym, and Louis goes back to sleep.  
  
“They’re utterly insane,” Zayn says, shaking his head. Liam chokes back a giggle and nods.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I just—” And then Liam dissolves into incontrollable laughter, because everything is so terrible right now, but he has these amazing, unbelievable friends with him, a boy he loves more than he’s ever loved anyone, and three mates who find time to bet on his love life in the midst of the most terrifying situation he’s ever been in. And he’s worried, he’s frightened all the time, but he also feels so lucky to count these lads as his best mates.  
  
Zayn just looks at him in fond bemusement, and Liam feels a warm fire burning up his chest.

  


“So what’s the game plan?”  
  
There’s a short silence.  
  
“What game plan?”  
  
Zayn can see Liam’s heart sink behind his eyes.  
  
“I’ve been at the gym for four hours, and you still haven’t come up with anything?”  
  
“Who goes to the gym for four hours anyway?” Louis grumbles. “Fuckin’ unnatural if you ask me.”  
  
“No one did ask you,” Liam says, with the slightest edge to his voice. “I can’t believe you haven’t thought of anything at all.”  
  
“I’ve come up something,” Zayn says. “But it’s not much of a plan.”  
  
“Trust me, it definitely doesn’t count as a plan,” Louis interjects. “It’s just something I took for granted.”  
  
“I’m just planning on pulling his own trick on him,” Zayn says, more to placate Liam than to offer a real solution. “Try and shut down his brain before he shuts down ours. We’ll have to get in and out fast, though, and we have to find Simon, so we’ll probably have to split up.”  
  
“In other words,” Liam says, “we don’t have a plan at all.”  
  
Zayn sighs. “Yeah, basically.”  
  
“Fantastic.” There’s barely any venom behind his voice, though, which sort of makes it even worse. Everyone’s far too tired to even be angry anymore.  
  
“Okay,” Louis says. “So you’ll work your mojo if we find him fast enough, or if he starts doing the weird creepy possessing thing that you can do where you control people. But what if he’s possessing you? Would you be able to shut down his brain then? Cause I’m assuming you’re gonna be a top target, because he knows you’re the most dangerous.”  
  
Zayn thinks for a second. “I guess it depends on how much of me he’s able to control. I can control people’s thoughts, so if he can do that, we’re basically screwed. He’d be able to take even the thought of resisting him out of our heads. But if he can only control our bodies, or if he doesn’t think using mind control is worth it—cause it’s really hard to do—then I might have a chance of taking him out even if he’s possessing me. I dunno, though. Cause like—I can’t shut down my own head. I don’t know if that extends to shutting down the mind of someone who’s possessing me.”  
  
“Fantastic.” There’s a heavy edge of sarcasm in Louis’ voice when he says the word.  
  
“Why can’t you shut down your own head?” Niall asks.  
  
“Dunno.”  
  
“Well, Jesus, Niall, you make it sound like you want him to kill himself to take out Ben,” Louis snaps, standing up abruptly and flinging a lightning bolt at the wall. It leaves a wide crack and the other four boys groan.  
  
“Third time this week, Lou,” Harry reminds him gently. “Try to keep it under control. Y’don’t see Niall going around shoving in walls or anything.”  
  
“Niall has better anger management skill than I do,” Louis says, looking much calmer after letting out his frustration.  
  
“That’s true.” Niall is the only one who hasn’t lost it at some point today.  
  
“I’ll give Paul a call and see if he has any sources on mind control powers and how to stop them,” Zayn says after a minute. “That might give us an idea on how to stop him.”  
  
“We should just kill him,” Louis says off-handedly.  
  
There’s a long silence.  
  
The thing is that they’ve never killed someone on a mission before. Usually, Zayn will just wipe their memories, or shut down the parts of their brains that make them aggressive, or they’ll knock the culprit out and make an anonymous phone call to the police. But they’ve never actually killed someone. And Zayn’s not that sure he wants to have to kill Ben, no matter how dangerous or evil he is, even if he deserves it. He doesn’t want to have to add _killer_ to the list of names he calls himself in his head.  
  
“I don’t think we’ll have to kill him,” Liam says finally. “But if we do—it’s self-defense. If it comes down to it, who here wouldn’t kill someone like Ben to save Simon?”  
  
“If it’s either us or him, I’m not gonna be squeamish about doing the honors,” Louis says, chin tilted up defiantly. “If I have to kill someone to save you lads, or to save Simon, I’ll fucking do it. Better me guilty than you dead.”  
  
Liam gives him the tiniest of nods. “Okay, that’s settled. Zayn, babe, you should still ring up Paul, though. It’s better if we have multiple ways to take him out.”  
  
“We’re gonna be meeting him at the office building, right?” Harry says. “And that’s their headquarters?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“So there’s probably gonna be more people than just Ben. He’ll have backup, and they’ll probably outnumber us. So we should plan for that as well.”  
  
“Good thinking.” Liam looks calmer now that he’s got something to do; Zayn reaches over for his hand anyway, more for himself than for Liam. The younger boy gives his hand an encouraging squeeze. “So maybe we should split up?”  
  
“I dunno how I feel about that,” Niall says. “Number one, you guys are gonna wanna pair up according to couples, and that’ll leave me alone, which I’d rather not do. Number two, I think it’s gonna work better if we stick together and concentrate our force. Ever since that one time Liam went off by ‘imself, I’m gettin’ a little nervous about splitting up.”  
  
“All right, point taken. We stick together.”  
  
After that, the flow of ideas dries up, and they agree to call it a day. Harry and Louis disappear into Louis’ bedroom, as Harry and Louis are wont to do, Niall retreats to his bedroom with his guitar, Liam goes to take a shower, and Zayn sits down to call Paul.  
  
“Zayn!” Paul sounds tense. “Where do I have to be, and how fast?”  
  
“No, no one’s hurt,” Zayn says quickly. “I was calling to see if you could get me any info on my skill set.”  
  
“Oh.” There’s brief pause. “Like your mind control type thing?”  
  
“Yeah, I wanna see if you have anything that has any information on how to take mind control powers away from someone who has them.”  
  
“And why would that be?”  
  
Zayn chews on his lip, wondering how much to tell him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Paul—outside of the boys and Simon, Paul’s probably one of the only people he trusts in the world—but he doesn’t want to worry or endanger him either. If the crows find out that Paul’s in on a plan to take out their leader, the consequences will be swift and harsh.  
  
“Zayn.”  
  
“I—”  
  
“Are y’trying to get rid of your powers? Or somethin’ like that?”  
  
“Oh! Oh, no, nothing like that.”  
  
“Sure?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
“Okay.” Paul lets out a deep breath. “The boys know you’re calling?”  
  
“Yeah. I can put one of them on the phone, if you want.”  
  
Paul hesitates, and then says, “Nah, you’re good. I’m just checkin’, you know. You know how I worry about you boys. Want to make sure you’re not doing anything too crazy.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And I still haven’t forgotten what you were like when Simon and Louis picked you up, in the beginning. Desperate to die and convinced you were a monster. I just want to make sure you’re not up to something—self-destructive.”  
  
“It’s nothing like that, Paul. Promise.” Zayn stares down at his feet. There’s hole in the socks he’s wearing; a pair of Liam’s, he thinks. Sometimes he thinks that those days when all he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up are lurking just in the back of his mind, waiting to be woken up again, but mostly, he feels like they’re far enough away that he might never go back. Maybe. If he keeps the boys close enough, sometimes he thinks that he’ll never want that again. He has so many good things, even if he doesn’t deserve them.  
  
“All right. Call me back in an hour, and I should have some info for you, yeah?”  
  
“Brilliant. Thanks, Paul.” He hangs up and leans back against the wall, wishing this all could have turned out differently.  
  
It only takes half an hour for Paul to call back; he’s not sure if that’s good sign or a bad one.  
  
“What’ve you got, then?”  
  
“Not a lot. I think it might be of help, though.”  
  
“All right. Let’s hear it.”  
  
“Okay. So, way number one is to straight-up kill the person. Just shoot them or something. Pretty straightforward.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Way number two: you need someone else with mind control powers. Just your basic mind shut-down. Kill the part of their brain that controls the powers and you’re good.”  
  
“Okay,” Zayn says. “But what if I’m the one that’s being mind controlled? Like what if I’m being possessed? Could I shut it down from the inside?”  
  
“I mean . . . it’d be worth a try? But I wouldn’t count on that working.”  
  
“Any other ways? That don’t require any power?”  
  
“There’s one more way. But if you’re talking about you or the boys being possessed when you need to stop the person, I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”  
  
“Anything would help at this point.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
After he hears it, Zayn’s heart plummets through his stomach and shatters on the floor.  
  
_Not now. Not after all this time. Not when I have all of this.  
  
Not now. _

  


The days fly by, and before Liam knows it, it’s the night before they’re scheduled to meet Ben, and he and Zayn are curled up together on the sofa watching a film that neither of them are really paying attention to. It’s some shitty romance that they’d found after channel surfing for far too long to care what they watched anymore.  
  
“You’d think we should be watching something better the night before we might die,” Zayn says.  
  
Liam knows it’s supposed to be funny, he _knows_ , but he can’t help but swallow a little too hard to be entirely amused. “We can change it if you want.”  
  
Zayn glances at him, and then leans over a half inch to softly bring their lips together. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to remind you or anything.”  
  
“I know you didn’t it. It’s just—I’m worried. I’m fucking terrified, Zayn.”  
  
“It’s okay to be scared.” Zayn runs his fingers through Liam’s hair comfortingly.  
  
“Are you scared?”  
  
“Out of my mind. For you lads, mainly. I’m probably the one that’s in the least danger, here.” His voice breaks a little at the end. “So don’t worry about me at all.”  
  
“Ben’s gonna target you,” Liam argues. “Of course I’m worried.”  
  
Zayn’s answer is another kiss, pressed on the skin that joins his neck and shoulder. Liam shivers a little.  
  
“Doesn’t help,” he whispers. “I’m still worried.”  
  
A very faint smile tugs up Zayn’s mouth, and he reaches over for Liam’s hand, turning it over palm up so he can brush his lips over the skin of Liam’s wrist. “How bout now?”  
  
“Still not working.” Liam’s breath is a little short now, because he thinks he knows where this is going, but he has to make sure Zayn wants to first, has to make sure he’s okay with it, that he wants to and isn’t just doing this because he feels like he has to.  
  
“Well, we should fix that, shouldn’t we,” Zayn whispers, bending down to kiss Liam’s neck, lingering over the place where his pulse hammers under his skin. “Better now?”  
  
He can feel Zayn smile when he tries not to shudder. “N-not really.”  
  
“Hmm.” The smaller boy pulls away and then slides over so that he’s straddling Liam’s lap, arms loosely slung around his neck. Liam can’t see his expression now that he’s facing away from the soft blue glow of the television, but he’s fairly certain that Zayn’s discovered his half-hard on by now. It’s a little embarrassing, how quickly he started filling up, but the combination of an overload of nerves and a recent dearth of proper wanking and just _Zayn_ looking at him like the other boy wants to take him apart and put him back together with just his lips and tongue has Liam’s breath coming quick and his blood rushing in his ears. And then Zayn moves in his lap just a little and— _oh_ , Zayn is getting hard too, and the friction is so sweet.  
  
“How about now?”  
  
“Dunno,” Liam half-gasps. “Still feel a bit worried.”  
  
Zayn rolls his hips down, rubbing them together in all the right places, and Liam bites back a moan because the boys are probably asleep in their bedrooms and—no, Harry and Louis are probably doing the exact same thing, actually. But Niall deserves some sleep.  
  
It’s a little hard to think about that, though, when Zayn grinds down again, and Liam can make out just enough of his expression to see that he’s biting on his lower lip and looking up at Liam through his eyelashes. Liam groans out Zayn’s name without even thinking, and feels Zayn’s cock twitch a little next to his.  
  
“H-hey, Zayn.”  
  
“Yeah, babe?”  
  
“Y’know we—we don’t have to. If you don’t want to, or if it—freaks you out or something or—I dunno. But we can stop.”  
  
There’s a short pause, and then Zayn says, “Do you want to stop?”  
  
“Only if you do.”  
  
“And if I don’t?”  
  
“Then m’gonna you feel so good,” Liam says. “Cause this is bout you too, yeah? I’ll make it so good for you, babe.”  
  
Another pause, and then: “Well, I don’t think I really want to stop.”  
  
“Okay. Just tell me if you do, okay? I don’t want you to feel like you—like you have to, or something.”  
  
Zayn leans down and kisses him very gently. “I love you,” he whispers against his mouth. “I’m in love with you.”  
  
Liam’s breath stops all together for a moment, and while he’s still scrambling for the words to put together to tell Zayn how much he loves him back, he feels Zayn go still above him.  
  
“Is—is that okay?”  
  
“Is it—fuck, Zayn, I’m so—I’m so in love you. I’m love you too. I think—I love you so much. Of course it’s okay.”  
  
“Okay,” Zayn says.  
  
They draw out a kiss for a few seconds, and then Liam says, “Can we go to a bedroom?”  
  
“That sounds like a good idea. Mine or yours?” The last words are accompanied with another sinful roll of Zayn’s hips, and Liam is actually going to die.  
  
“F-fuck, whichever—whichever one’s farther away from Niall.”  
  
“Yours, then?”  
  
“Yeah, okay.” Liam hooks his fingers under Zayn’s ass and stands up; Zayn gasps and curls his arms and legs around Liam.  
  
“ _Jesus_ , give a bloke a warning,” he mumbles, clinging to Liam like his life depends on it.  
  
Liam nudges open his bedroom door and leans back against it so it snaps shut, Zayn starting to squirm in his arms a little. He manages to get them to the bed before they tumble down in a pile of arms and legs and, in Zayn’s case, a tiny surprised squeak that Liam finds a lot cuter than he should.  
  
“You’ve never done this with a bloke before, right?” Zayn asks once they’ve righted themselves and sorted out whose limbs are whose.  
  
“Yeah, but I’ve got the general sort of idea, yeah?” Liam says a little defensively.  
  
“All right,” Zayn says, fingers slipping under Liam’s shirt. “We’ll go slow, yeah?”  
  
Liam nods, barely able to concentrate on anything but the places where Zayn’s hands are in contact with his bare skin.  
  
“Y’wanna get this off, then, babe?” Zayn asks, pulling back suddenly, so he’s resting on his heels between Liam’s legs, his hand moving down to palm himself through his joggers. Liam lets out a groan at how fucking _hot_ the sight of Zayn touching himself is. “C’mon, babe, we can’t get anything done if you’ve got clothes on.”  
  
“Yeah, all right,” Liam says, eyes still fixed on the place where Zayn’s fingers are brushing over the bulge in his pants. He slowly hikes up the hem of his own shirt, watching the way Zayn’s eyes rake over his torso. “You’ve got too many clothes on as well, though, yeah?”  
  
Zayn hesitates for a second, and then Liam whispers, “S’all right, babe, you’re beautiful; you know that, right? Just wanna make my beautiful boy feel good,” and Zayn’s eyes fall closed, like the sight of Liam is too much, and then he’s shrugging out of his shirt and Liam’s reaching up to run his hands over every inch of his bare skin, breathing out compliments and endearments against every point where they come in contact.  
  
“You still good?”  
  
“Still good,” Zayn says, his breath hitching when Liam’s fingers slide just underneath his waistband.  
  
“What d’you want, babe?” Liam pulls him down so Zayn’s nearly lying on top of him. “Tell me what you want.”  
  
Zayn’s eyes flutter closed when Liam gently sucks a mark just above his collarbone, one of his hands resting on Zayn’s lower back and the other pressed against his waist.  
  
“F-fuck, I want—want to suck you off, yeah? And then— _Leeyum_ —fuck, I want you inside me.”  
  
Liam lets out a moan, fingers digging into Zayn’s back a little before letting one hand slide down between Zayn’s legs; Zayn ruts up against his fingers, biting down on his lip before crashing their mouths together. Then Zayn’s sliding down, away from Liam’s mouth, expert fingers slipping Liam out of his pants and then massaging him through his boxers.  
  
“Still good?” Liam asks, trying not to moan the words out obscenely.  
  
“Better than good,” Zayn murmurs, heavy-lidded eyes glancing up to meet Liam’s momentarily before he pulls Liam’s boxers down, palming himself with his other hand with a soft groan.  
  
He brushes his thumb over the slit at the top of Liam’s cock, making Liam throb and blurt out a drop of precome. Then he’s sinking down slowly, _so hot and wet_ , lips stretched out and cheeks hollowed. The sight of Zayn’s mouth filled up like that, his cheekbones sharper than ever and his eyelashes fluttering shut, makes Liam’s hips stutter up a fraction. Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, just throws Liam a slightly smug look before pulling off so only Liam’s tip is enveloped in the heat of his mouth. Liam whines a little at the loss before Zayn’s sinking back down so that Liam hits the back of his throat, and _fuck_ , Zayn must have no gag reflex at all, because Liam can feel his cock slide down another inch; the thought alone has him biting back an embarrassing noise, but he lets it out when Zayn does something with his tongue that has him throwing his head back and clenching the sheets desperately.  
  
“Fuck, do th-that again.”  
  
Zayn pulls off completely, giving Liam a look that would have been entirely innocent if it hadn’t been for his swollen, spit-slicked lips. “Do what, babe?”  
  
“What you just did with—with your tongue, fuck.”  
  
Zayn considers this for a moment before murmuring, “It’s really fucking hot when you swear,” and ducking his head back down, swirling his tongue against the underside of Liam’s cock again before starting to bob up and down; Liam groans and squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to come right then and there. He holds on for another minute before he feels heat coiling in his belly and then he’s gasping out, “Zayn, Zayn—babe, m’gonna come if you don’t stop.”  
  
Zayn draws back up, his lips utter obscene by now. “We’ll save that for another time, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Liam breathes out, fists still clenching and unclenching in the sheets. “Another time, yeah.”  
  
“Y’got lube?”  
  
Liam flushes a little. “Middle drawer in the nightstand, yeah.”  
  
“Perfect.” Zayn leans over to get it; the reach gives Liam a view of his ass that he’s certainly not complaining bout. “Y’know it’s not like when you do it with a girl, yeah? I’m gonna have to get ready first.”  
  
“Yeah, I—Louis may or may not have given me a rundown.”  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes. “Of course he did.” He uncaps the bottle and says, “Y’can watch if you’d like, shouldn’t be more than a minute I need.”  
  
“I—” Liam can feel how red he must be. “Could I—”  
  
Zayn looks a little taken aback. “You want to do it?”  
  
“Yeah—I—is that okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I just—no one’s ever,” and Zayn is the one who looks embarrassed now, “usually the people I’ve slept with just wanna get inside and—yeah. No one’s ever wanted to do it before.”  
  
Liam’s not really sure why that it, because the idea seems quite appealing to him, but he just says, “Told you I was gonna make you feel good, yeah?”  
  
Zayn blushes a little and starts unzipping his pants as Liam squeezes a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. He’s done this with a few of his ex-girlfriends before; it can’t be that different even if Zayn is a bloke.  
  
“You good?” he asks just as a precaution.  
  
Zayn nods and makes as if to get on his hands and knees, but Liam stops him.  
  
“Is it okay if we don’t—I wanna be able to see your face.”  
  
Zayn’s expression softens and he nods again, rolling over onto his back, opening his legs; Liam’s cock throbs, sending a shock of pleasure through his whole body. From the looks of it, Zayn is in a similar state.  
  
“Just go slow, yeah? S’been a while.”  
  
“Course,” Liam says, cautiously circling one finger around Zayn’s entrance, slicking it up before pushing it gently inside; Zayn contracts for a second. “Just relax, babe, yeah?”  
  
“Trying,” Zayn says, voice a little strained.  
  
“Tell me if it hurts.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Liam pushes his finger the rest of the way in, burying it in Zayn’s silky heat; they both let out a muffled groan. After a minute Zayn says, “Think m’good for another one.”  
  
Liam carefully slides in a second finger, giving Zayn a minute to adjust before scissoring them apart, stretching out his hole and enjoying the way the ring of muscle contracts before expanding, pulled apart by his broad fingers. Zayn thrusts his hips up, letting out a shameless moan.  
  
“Fuck, Li—just push a little up, yeah? Just—right there, fuck, right there.”  
  
Liam fingers Zayn’s sweet spot for a minute, watching the way his cock throbs and twitches in response before pushing in a third finger; Zayn makes an unholy noise and pushes back down against his fingers, grinding his hips desperately to force Liam to nudge against his prostate again while his unattended cock leaks precome against his stomach. It’s probably the hottest thing Liam has ever seen, and his own cock is starting to feel like it needs to be touched or he’ll die. Zayn is moaning out Liam’s name like it’s the only word he knows anymore, mixed with various curse words and compliments.  
  
“Think you’re ready, babe?” Liam asks when it feels like Zayn’s loose enough for him.  
  
“Y-yeah, fuck, yeah, I think so.” Zayn’s eyes are squeezed shut and his cheeks are flushed, his lips still swollen and red from Liam’s cock.  
  
Liam pulls his fingers out with a soft wet sound and lifts up Zayn’s ass a bit; Zayn wraps his legs around Liam’s waist, leaning up to blindly brush his lips over any part of Liam he can reach.  
  
“Y’feeling good yet?”  
  
“So good, Leeyum, fuck—”  
  
Liam reaches over in his drawer and rummages around to find a condom; he tears open the foil as fast as he can and rolls the rubber over himself with shaking fingers. He checks to make sure Zayn’s still good before he lines himself up with Zayn’s entrance and slowly starts to push in, feeling Zayn clench and unclench a bit before starting to adjust. “Does it hurt?”  
  
“A bit—s’okay, though, just give me a minute, yeah?”  
  
“Y-yeah, course.” Liam stops moving, resisting the urge to hammer into Zayn with all his strength.  
  
After a few seconds Zayn lets out a long breath and says, “Fuck, _move_ ,” and Liam pushes in the rest of the way.  
  
“Good?”  
  
Zayn waits a minute, and then Liam can feel him relax the rest of the way and he says, “M’good.”  
  
Liam manages to pull out slowly and then push back in just as gently, trying to change the angle a little in order to hit Zayn’s sweet spot. Zayn lets out a soft whimper after a few strokes.  
  
“Right there, yeah?”  
  
Zayn just nods furiously. “ _Harder_ , Leeyum.”  
  
Liam begins to thrust a little faster, giving into the urge to slam in harder. Zayn groans, rolling his hips in time with Liam’s thrusts, and no, _this_ is the hottest thing Liam has ever seen for sure.  
  
“So fucking good, babe,” he manages to breathe out, leaning down to kiss a trail up Zayn’s stomach, sucking down near the heart inked on his hip. “Y’feel so good.”  
  
Zayn whines in reply, deliciously responsive to Liam’s every move. The sight of Zayn falling apart underneath him combined with the soft, burning heat he’s enveloped in has the warmth in Liam’s stomach coiling up again, his cock pulsing inside Zayn. He reaches down and wraps a hand around Zayn, starting to pump him in time with the movement of his hips  
  
“M’close,” he gets out, his thrusts coming a little harder now.  
  
“Me—fuck, me too—”  
  
Liam thrusts against Zayn’s prostate every time, making Zayn squirm and moan underneath him, his thin thighs shaking from the pressure of Liam’s hand and hips. The pleasure is so intense that Liam feels like he can barely take it anymore.  
  
Zayn comes first, a strangled cry ripped from his lips as he spills out over Liam’s fingers and his own stomach with his load, clenching unbearably around Liam with an almost-sob. Liam comes a moment later, Zayn’s name on his lips as he pulls out to stripe them both with white. They come down from their highs at almost the same time; Liam collapses on top of Zayn, feeling boneless. Zayn cards his fingers through Liam’s hair gently, murmuring out a weak endearment.  
  
“You good?” Liam manages, raising his head to look at Zayn.  
  
“Really good,” Zayn whispers. “Didn’t know it could feel so good.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Don’t think anyone’s ever bothered make me feel good before.”  
  
Liam lays his head back on Zayn’s chest. “I’m glad I was the one who did.”  
  
They lay there together for a minute more before Liam rolls off the condom and gets a towel to wipe them off. Zayn finds two pairs of clean boxers and pulls the dirty sheet off the bed. In the aftermath they’re both lethargic and feeling almost buzzed; the minute they’re acceptably clean, they collapse in a tangle of limbs under the remaining blanket together, trading lazy kisses before Zayn mutters, “Love you, Leeyum.”  
  
“I love you too.”  
  
Not too long after that, Zayn drifts off, leaving Liam to admire the curve of his neck in the faint light from the window, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his slender fingers interlace loosely with Liam’s. It’s only then that Liam finally remembers that tomorrow he could lose all of this. He could lose Zayn.  
  
_Please_ , he prays to whoever’s listening. _Please_.  
  
But in the darkness of the night, it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone there to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What even was that chapter? I feel like it was mainly an apology for the wait and also for the next chapter, which is going to be pretty painful. It's the rescue mission and yeah. I apologize in advance.   
> LISTEN I've never written smut before I'm sorry if it sucked omfg I'm scared. I can't believe I wrote half a chapter of pure smut lol. I was just gonna tactfully cut to the next morning after a suggestive make-out session, but then I started listening to The Weeknd and Beyonce and shit just went downhill from there. Tell me what you thought in the comments??  
> Sorry again for making you wait; the next chapter definitely shouldn't take more than a week to get done unless I fall seriously ill for some reason, which I probably won't. Leave me comments and kudos and all that good stuff bc I need validation in my life. Thanks for reading.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
>  Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even fucking know. This chapter is the whole reason I wrote this fic at all. This chapter is my precious child. I am . . . very nervous. I actually skipped out on working on something I'm writing for my sister's birthday to get this done yikes. Okay. Enjoy???  
> All usual disclaimers apply, you know the drill.

“Okay, listen up.” Louis’ chin is tilted up in that authoritative way he has when he’s particularly frightened. “We all know the plan, right?”  
  
The other four boys nod.  
  
“We’re gonna be fine, okay? We’re gonna stick together and strike hard and fast, and we’re not gonna let anyone go off on their own. No heroics, okay? No stupid sacrifices. No giving up. Just stick to the plan and we’re all good.”  
  
Zayn wonders if he’s the only one that doesn’t have much faith in the plan.  
  
“We’re gonna kick Ben’s ass and come back here and order pizza and stop worrying for once in our damn lives.” Louis’ sharp blue eyes flick around their tiny circle, looking for signs of fear or doubt. His face is drawn tight, and his eyes don’t crinkle at the corners when he smiles at them encouragingly. “Are we ready?”  
  
“Not even a little,” Niall says. “But that doesn’t really matter, yeah? Let’s go kick some gangster ass.”  
  
Zayn reaches down to squeeze Liam’s hand; the younger boy is shaking a little, but he just gives Zayn a small smile as if to reassure him everything is going to be all right.  
  
The minute Zayn takes a step forward, however, Niall throws up both hands. “Wait!”  
  
“What?” Liam asks, exasperated.  
  
“Did you two fuck last night?”  
  
“How the fuck can you even tell?”  
  
“Is that a yes or a no?”  
  
“It’s a yes, but how do you know?  
  
“Zayn was walking a lil funny,” Niall says with a satisfied grin. “Louis, you owe me another twenty pounds.”  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake, Niall, is this really the time?”  
  
“When we get back I want my twenty pounds,” Niall says stubbornly.  
  
“All right,” Louis says wearily. “Twenty quid it is. Let’s go.”  
  
Zayn drives them there; usually driving lets him take his mind off the upcoming mission, but today he’s distracted and barely aware of the surrounding traffic, too busy picking things over in his head to worry much about the road. He gets more than a few horns blared at him, but the boys don’t even bother yelling at him to pay attention. For some reason, this doesn’t feel like a regular mission. He can feel a stone-cold weight of worry in his chest.  
  
_It’s all going to be fine.  
  
It’s all going to be fine.  
  
_ The door to the office building is unlocked, and the surrounding streets are deserted. It’s disconcerting, but Zayn just hefts the weight of his gun in his hand and makes sure that his power’s under control, reaching into the back of his mind to open up his senses a little, just enough so that he can sense the petrifying fear of the other boys and presence of other, more foreign people in the building. At least his arm isn’t in a sling anymore; he’d healed slower than Liam but still quick enough to be ready for this mission.  
  
“Ready?” Harry’s whisper is shaky and paper-thin, his green eyes huge in his pale face.  
  
“Let’s go.”  
  
The minute they step through the door, there’s a roaring sound inside Zayn’s head, and then a terrifying rush of memories is dragged to the front of his mind. He staggers, falls, lands on his knees, hands squeezing his temples in a useless attempts to drive away the _fear anger horror sadness fear fear fear_ —  
  
Liam is clutching the wall for support next to him, and Louis is curling away from everyone, hiding his face in his hands—Zayn can’t see the other two, he can barely see anything at all; everything is racing before his eyes, and he can feel rough hands against his skin, can taste blood in his mouth—  
  
And then, with a massive force of will, he draws out his power from the back of his mind and shoves it against the flood in his head, pushes back and opens up his mind, searching for Ben’s presence—he’s somewhere upstairs, and he’s definitely what’s caused this—there’s a short, painful struggle, and then Ben gives up.  
  
Slowly, Zayn raises his head; the other boys have managed to keep standing, but they all look shaken up.  
  
“What the fuck was that?” Louis asks finally, shaking his head a little like a dog shaking off water.  
  
“Ben,” Zayn says hoarsely. His knees feel like jelly and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stand. He feels a bit ashamed of the way he’d fallen down so quickly when the other boys had put up against Ben’s onslaught much better; even worse is the thought that if struggling against Ben for only a few seconds takes so much energy out of him, he won’t even be conscious by the time he gets upstairs.  
  
“Did you lads see—” Niall breaks off and shudders.  
  
“Your worst memories, right?” Zayn asks. Maybe he’ll just sit here for a moment longer so the boys won’t have to see how weak he is.  
  
“Yeah,” Liam says cautiously. Zayn can feel his pitying gaze on him but refuses to look up. “Y’need a hand up, babe?”  
  
Zayn swallows his pride and nods. “Sorry.”  
  
“Nothing to be sorry about.”  
  
He clasps Liam’s warm, firm hand and allows the other boy to pull him to his feet.  
  
“Good?”  
  
He feels Liam’s arm around his waist, concentrates on that. Tries to breathe and chokes.  
  
“Good enough.”  
  
Liam presses a soft kiss to his temple and lets go of him.  
  
“Then let’s go.”

  


Zayn’s footsteps are wobbly as they walk further in; Liam watches the way he brushes his fingers against the walls to steady himself and wonders how much the brief battle with Ben had taken out of him. Knowing Zayn, the older boy is hiding the worst of it from them. Not to mention that out of all them, Zayn has the worst memories to relive; the emotional toll of having to look at the most terrifying moments of his difficult, violent life combined with the energy he’d lost struggling with Ben must have taken a lot of him.  
  
He doesn’t have much time to worry, though, because the next minute they’re surrounded by four men, and gunfire is breaking out. One man drops to his knees for no apparent reason, screaming, and for a minute Liam’s petrified because _god knows what caused that_ , but then Zayn’s fingers are clenched around his forearm tight enough to hurt, and he realizes that he must’ve done something to the man. Louis blasts one across the room with a splendid blaze of lightning; Niall makes an appreciative noise and picks up the remaining two, throwing them casually over his shoulder and dusting his hands off right after Liam hears the sickening crunch of bones as they land.  
  
“Fuckin’ gangsters, man,” Niall says with an off-hand grin. “Don’t know what’s good for them—Zayn, mate, y’all right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn gasps out. When Liam looks down, his boyfriend’s face is ashen and his legs are shaking.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he asks, fear freezing his insides yet again.  
  
“I think—” Zayn draws in a long, shuddering breath. “I think—Ben’s trying to shut down my powers. I haven’t let him in my head yet—but I think this is gonna be a problem.”  
  
“Makes sense to drain the most powerful one first,” Louis mutters. “Are you good to keep going or not?”  
  
“I have to be, don’t I?”  
  
“You could wait here—” Liam starts.  
  
“Don’t even fucking think about it.”  
  
“Lads?” Harry’s voice sounds nervous.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Unless you fancy getting caught up in the stampede of gangsters that’s headed our way, we might want to get moving.”  
  
“Shit.” Niall pulls out his gun. “Which way are they coming from?”  
  
“From in front of us.”  
  
“But we have to get to the stairs!” Zayn bursts out. “Ben’s upstairs.”  
  
“ _Shit_.”  
  
“Let me go first,” Liam says suddenly. Everyone turns to look at him. “They aren’t gonna be on the lookout for me the way they will be for, say, Zayn.”  
  
“I thought we agreed no heroics,” Zayn groans.  
  
“This has nothing to do with heroics, it’s just common sense, yeah? And it’s not like you’re a position to be going yourself.”  
  
Zayn glares at him, opening his mouth furiously, but then Niall quickly steps between them and holds up both hands. “Li, mate, ya know I love you, but it makes the most sense for us to go all together. No stupid sacrifices, remember? And who’s gonna be Zayn’s crutch if y’go down?”  
  
Liam feels the fight go out of him suddenly, and he slumps against Zayn’s shoulder. “Fine, whatever. Let’s just hurry up.”  
  
They round the corner as a unit, Zayn’s hand at his waist like Liam’s the one that needs support—Liam leans into his touch—and then the dam breaks once again, and all of Liam’s memories of being frightened and bullied in secondary school, and the panic of being trapped and shot like an animal the last time he was here, and the sickening feeling of thinking he’d lost Zayn when he’d gone after Harry rise to the surface again, and then he’s falling away from Zayn as a horde of men surrounds them. Something inside him is _screaming screaming screaming_ and then his limbs come to life not of his own accord, and he’s engaged in a deadly dance with three other man, exchanging blows and attempting to shoot each other, and he’s panicking because _what is going on_ , but then he sees Zayn slumped on the floor, eyes rolled back into his head, and forgets everything else, even the way he’s become a helpless passenger in his own body.  
  
_It’s all good, babe, just relax, yeah? I can’t completely push back Ben again if I want to be able to stand after this, so I’m just gonna use you and the boys to fight off this group real quick, is that okay? Once they go down I think Ben will ease up on this whole mind thing for a bit._  
  
Zayn’s voice is relatively calm for someone who’s reliving all their worst memories and controlling the bodies of his four best friends in a deadly fight against a sizable group of gangsters at the same time. It takes Liam a minute to figure out that Zayn’s talking to him in his head, but then he lets himself calm down a little. The gangsters go down within minutes under Zayn’s direction, and then suddenly Liam is in control of his own limbs again. Harry collapses against him, breathing hard.  
  
“What the _fuck_ was that, Zayn?” Louis pants, his fingers scrabbling against the wall for a handhold.  
  
“Sorry . . . just couldn’t fight him off . . . and while he was filling up our heads with that shit . . . we couldn’t fight . . . had to, sorry.” Zayn hasn’t moved from where he was slumped on the floor where Liam saw him earlier. There’s blood welling up from a cut on his cheekbone.  
  
“I think what he means is that Ben sent down the gangsters while we paralyzed under his powers and unable to fight, so he had to take control in order to fight back," Harry says, his breath coming in short gasps.  
  
“Yeah . . .”  
  
Liam crawls over to where Zayn’s laying and puts an arm around his narrow shoulders, helping him sit up.  
  
“M’good, babe, thanks.” His voice is a little stronger now. “We gotta keep going, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. Just don’t wear yourself out.”  
  
“I think that’s what he’s trying to do,” Harry says suddenly. Everyone turns to look at him. “I think Ben keeps sending out these mind control attack things so that Zayn has to fight him off, so that by the time we get upstairs, Zayn’ll be all worn out and not much of a threat. And it’s not like the rest of us can do much to fight against his powers.”  
  
There’s a short silence as they all recognize the gruesome truth to that statement, and then Zayn hoists himself to his feet.  
  
“Well, if he wants a fight, he’s fucking got one,” he says grimly. “I can hold out until we’re done kicking his ass. It’s gonna take more than some shitty half-assed gang leader to wear me out; I’ve lived through shit that he couldn’t even fucking imagine. Are we ready to fucking go or what?”  
  
There’s another pause, and then Louis says, “So much respect for ya, bro.”  
  
“Honestly,” Niall adds. “And you’re right: it’s gonna take a helluva lot more n’ this to take us down.”  
  
They set off again, Liam trying to swallow down the sinking feeling in his stomach. Something is terribly off here, but he just can’t place his finger on it.  
  
“I love you,” he mumbles to Zayn in a weak attempt to abate his anxiety.  
  
“I love you too.”

  


By the time they make it up the stairs, Zayn’s head is reeling and his legs feel about to give out. But if anything, getting to Ben on the second floor is only going to be harder; he just wishes he’d get a chance to go on the offensive rather than just trying to stave off Ben’s constant attacks.  
  
The chances of that are pretty slim, though, so he just tries to protect his boys from the mental barrage as much as he can while they take care of the more physical threats. And somehow, he manages to stay on his feet even when he’s past the point of exhaustion and just feels like dropping down dead where he stands from the strain of fighting such a constant mental battle. Liam tries to keep an arm around him as much as possible, but that becomes more and more difficult as the gangster attack them in greater and greater numbers.  
  
“You okay?” he manages to get out after the boys have fought back a fresh onslaught of attackers.  
  
“Think I might have sprained my wrist or something, but nothing that won’t heal,” Liam says, twisting his wrist around once and groaning. “You?”  
  
“Fine.” He can feel a trickle of blood creeping out of his nose, but he’s always gotten nosebleeds when he uses his powers too much.  
  
Liam reaches over to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth; it tastes of blood and sweat and gunmetal. “If we don’t make it—”  
  
“We’re going to fucking make it, Li, don’t say that.”  
  
“I know, but if we don’t . . .”  
  
“We’re going to be fine.” Zayn can’t allow himself to think of the alternative. If he’s strong enough, if he’s fast and smart enough, maybe he can find a way to take out Ben cleanly and quickly, without having to use the information Paul got him.  
  
Liam doesn’t reply, just turns away and bows his head.  
  
“Liam, listen to me.” When he doesn’t look up, Zayn sighs. “Liam.”  
  
“I’m just so scared.” Liam’s voice is tiny; if Zayn hadn’t been listening closely, he wouldn’t have heard him at all. And God, all Zayn wants is to take him far, far away from here, somewhere where nothing frightening or harmful will ever touch him again.  
  
“It’s gonna be fine, Leeyum. It’s gonna be fine.”  
  
“Have you gotten any trace of Simon yet, Z?” Harry asks, stumbling over, gun dragging from a limp hand. “Cause I can’t see him anywhere in here.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve got nothing.” Zayn refuses to look at Liam, refuses to see the way his heart will sink behind his eyes, refuses to let Liam believe anything other than , _it will all be fine._  
  
“All right, just checking. Are we good to keep going?”  
  
“Yeah, we’re good.”  
  
They’re not good; none of them are. They’re exhausted and paralyzed with fear, and this point Zayn’s not sure how long they can keep fighting, but they have to be okay. If it’s the last thing he does, he’s gonna make sure his boys make it out alive. 

  


The top floor is made up of one huge, open loft with large window and a smooth, hard floor. There’s no one there; either they’ve taken out all the resistance, or they’re about to get hit with a massive force in a few minutes, and Liam’s not sure which is more likely. It seems like they’ve fought through endless droves of gangsters, but it probably hasn’t been that many. He’s also pretty sure that Ben’s been trying to drain them all of their energy and powers, because he feels uncommonly tired, even for someone who’s been fighting nonstop for what feels like hours (though it’s probably been much less than that). Zayn must been taking the brunt of that, though; the other boys can at least use their powers just fine.  
  
“Well, well, well.” A precise, cultured voice cuts through Liam’s exhausted thoughts, and he looks up to see a man with a pointily handsome face and a well-trimmed beard standing at the other end of the loft. “I see you’ve all made it here in one piece. That’s quite impressive.”  
  
“Ben,” Zayn says through clenched teeth.  
  
“Nice to see you again, Zayn, sweetheart,” Ben purrs, and Liam’s fists clench at the mocking endearment. “I’m so glad you brought all your little friends.”  
  
“We’ve got through all your defenses,” Louis blurts out. “Give us Simon. There’s one of you and five of us. The odds aren’t in your favor, asshole.”  
  
“How charming. I think you’ll learn the odds are always tipped in my favor, little one. You’re all bloodied and tired and ready to drop dead on your feet, while I’m on my own ground and quite fresh.”  
  
“Little one?” Louis looks like he’s about to eat Ben alive. “ _Little one?_ I’m _five nine,_ you fucking dick!”  
  
The other boys sigh almost as a reflex; Niall mutters, “No, you’re not.” For a moment, it almost feels like nothing’s wrong.”  
  
“Oh, my poor boys,” Ben says, starting to walk towards them. “I really don’t think any of you know what fear really feels like. I don’t think any of you have ever had the chance to find out. What’s the worst that’s ever happened in your brief, pointless lives? A broken arm? Getting kicked out of the house?” Ben’s eyes narrow. “I think it’s maybe time to find out.”  
  
“I think you don’t know jack _shit_ about what any of us have lived through,” Zayn says. “If you try to pull that “dragging up your worst memories” shit again, though, I’m ready for you, so fucking _bring it_.”  
  
“I didn’t mean I want to pull up your pathetic worst memories, darling. I meant I’m about to make them.” Ben’s lips twist up in a thin smile, and then his body goes limp, and he falls to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.  
  
“What the . . .” Louis looks half-thrilled, like Ben maybe had a sudden heart attack and they can all go home now.  
  
“Does that mean . . .” Liam looks at Zayn, and the other boy nods very slightly. “It means he’s controlling one of us,” Liam says, feeling bile rising in his throat. “He’s possessing one of us.”  
  
“Who is it, though?” Harry asks, his eyes wide and fearful.  
  
“Dunno,” Niall says uneasily. “Whoever it is, he’s obviously making them pretend he’s not possessing them.”  
  
Liam swallows and looks at the other boys, scanning their faces for any signs that their being controlled by Ben.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn says suddenly. “He’s probably trying to shut down the powers of whoever it is right now, so we need to find out who is it fast so I can stop him.”  
  
“Can’t you just look inside our heads and see where he is?"  
  
“I’m trying,” Zayn says, sounding like he’s about to cry from frustration, “but he’s too good, you all feel normal, he’s too fucking good, I can’t find him, I can’t fucking find him.”  
  
And then Harry’s mouth stretches into a too-wide smile, and says, “You boys are too easy,” in a voice that doesn’t sound like Harry at all, and then it’s Harry’s body that’s trembling on the floor and Ben who’s upright again.  
  
“Haz?” Louis’ voice sounds terrified. “Hazza, love, are you okay?”  
  
“M’good,” Harry mutters, struggling to regain his feet. “M’good.”  
  
“Like I said: too easy.” Ben looks vastly smug. “I would laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic.”  
  
“Harry,” Zayn says in an even voice, “do you still have your powers?”  
  
“Oh—fuck—yeah, no, I’m good. He didn’t take them away.”  
> “Not yet,” Ben says gleefully. “I’m only getting started, sweetheart. I could do this all day.” He considers them with a cocked head, lips curved into a careless smile. “The sad thing is that I believe Zayn knows how to stop all this, but he’s too weak to try it.” He makes a mock-sad face, lips pursed and eyebrows lowered. “He loves you all too much—how _sweet_.”  
  
“You fucking—”  
  
“What’s he talking about, Zayn?” Liam asks, his heart pounding.  
  
“Forget it, Liam, just ignore him—”  
  
“Just ignore him, _Leeyum,_ ” Ben mocks, dragging out Liam’s name in a mimic of Zayn’s accent that makes Liam’s blood boil.  
  
“Are you one of those people that just copies people when they don’t have a good comeback?” Louis demands. “Cause that’s childish as fuck. Not that I’d expect better from you, though.”  
  
“Louis, be nice,” Harry says, as if out of habit.  
  
“Be nice?” Louis screeches. “Be _nice_? He’s trying to _kill_ us and you want me to be _nice_?”  
  
Harry makes a helpless gesture, as though he can’t keep his polite nature in check, even when it’s impractical.  
  
“Zayn, _what did he mean_?” Liam roars.  
  
Zayn shakes his head. Liam can see the way his breath is coming in quick gasps, either from worry or from the effort of holding back whatever fresh mental attack Ben is trying to burst out. “Liam, don’t worry about it, I—”  
  
And then Ben’s body goes limp again, falling to the ground in a graceless arc. Liam spins around to see who’s being possessed this time, except—  
  
He doesn’t move at all. Instead, he feels his mouth stretch out grotesquely, feels a chuckle that he didn’t cause build up deep in his throat.  
  
“Well, well,” he says in a voice that’s not quite his, turning around to face the boys. “What do we have here?”  
  
“Liam?” Zayn says hoarsely.  
  
“A superhero with no powers,” Ben says through Liam’s mouth. “Well, that’s a sob story if I’ve ever heard one.”  
  
“ _Liam,_ ” Zayn says again. “Please tell me that’s you, babe, please tell me—”  
  
“Oh, _babe_ , is it?” Ben’s laugh vibrates through Liam’s throat. “Are you two little boyfriends or something?”  
  
Zayn’s fists clench and unclench once before his hand creeps to his waistband to clutch his gun. Liam wants to scream _no_ and _don’t shoot_ and _I’m still in here_ but nothing comes out. It’s like the most horrifying kind of nightmare, where your life is in mortal danger but you don’t have control of anything that could save you, like being in a plane crash where you can do nothing but pray. He feels helpless.  
  
“Oh come on, now, Zayn, don’t pretend like you’d shoot your lovely innocent boyfriend. Don’t even pretend like you’d even think about hurting him, even if you could hurt me by doing so.” Liam wants to choke back the words, wants to drive Ben out of his head but he can’t and it makes him want to vomit. “The funny thing about being in someone else’s body is that I can do anything—” Ben makes Liam pick up his gun again, and Liam tries to tears his fingers away from the trigger; they don’t even move an inch “—and no one ever wants to hurt the person I’m possessing.”  
  
Ben makes Liam aim the gun at Niall; Niall’s eyes widen. “I could shoot him dead right now, and none of you would move an inch, because God forbid you end up killing poor little Leeyum, too, right?”  
  
“Don’t fucking do this,” Zayn says quietly. “get out of his head and we’ll talk, okay? We’ll do whatever. Just put the fucking gun down and get out of Liam.”  
  
Ben suddenly swivels the gun so it’s facing towards Liam. “I don’t think I will.”  
  
Liam feels his own hand squeeze the trigger, and suddenly his own leg collapses in an explosion of dull pain. Zayn makes a strangled sound and runs forward; the rest of the boys are frozen in horrified silence. Ben makes Liam shove Zayn away the minutes he’s within arm’s reach. Liam numbly watches him hit the floor. The older boy’s eyes are clenched shut in pain.  
  
He’s never felt so fucking _helpless_.  
  
“That was fun,” he hears himself say. “Shall we do it again?”  
  
_No_ , he wants to scream, _leave me alone_. His fingers aim the barrel at his leg again anyway.  
  
He watches as Zayn slowly gets to his feet. The boys stand behind him, hands on their guns. Louis has lightning crackling at the tips of his fingers.  
  
“Is this really how you want to play?” Zayn hisses. There’s blood smeared on his face and his eyes look desperate. “Because I can fight dirty too.”  
  
“I’d like to see you try.” Liam wants to rip the words out of the air, but he can’t fucking do anything and it’s starting to kill him.  
  
“All right,” Zayn says coolly. “Then come—over—here—”  
  
He makes an odd snatching motion with one hand, and then Liam feels something being ripped out of him, like someone’s tearing out his brain, and then he falls to the floor, his leg throbbing more than ever now that Ben’s not holding him up through force of will. Zayn falls with him, head jerking back and legs kicking out like someone being exorcised in an old-fashioned horror movie. The other boys jump back as he scrabbles for purchase on the smooth floor, and Harry runs over to help Liam, hands pressing against the flow of blood from his leg.  
  
Zayn lays still.  
  
Somewhere in Liam’s pain-fuzzy brain, he screams.  
  
Then slowly, Zayn sits up and laughs tiredly.  
  
“Stupid boy,” he says. “Thinking he could fight me in his own head. He should know better.”  
  
“Zayn, mate?” Niall says cautiously.  
  
Zayn’s body stands up and gives Niall a feral grin. “You wish.”  
  
He makes a motion as if to grab Niall, but the other boy shoves him away with all his strength, meaning that Zayn’s body flies halfway across the room and lands in a crumpled heap.  
  
“Shit, no, that’s still Zayn—” Niall looks torn, like he can’t decide whether it’s Ben or Zayn that he hurt.  
  
“I think you broke his arm again,” Ben says in Zayn’s voice, once Zayn’s body gets back on its feet. “You really are quite a vicious guard dog.”  
  
Louis throws out an arm to stop Niall from charging Ben. “Don’t do anything until we find out whether Zayn’s still alive in there.”  
  
“Oh, he’s very much alive,” Ben says. The smile on Zayn’s features looks all wrong; too sharp and pointed and all the more eerie for the way his face is bloodstained. “He’s alive and kicking, all right. I should be able to kill him within the next—oh, five minutes, say.”  
  
Louis makes a frustrated noise, and lightning rips from his fingers in a blinding sheet, a violent explosion that hurts no one.  
  
“I honestly think—” and then Zayn’s body is on the ground again, jerking grotesquely before laying still.  
  
Niall takes a cautious step forward. “This has got to be the weirdest fight I’ve ever been in.”  
  
“No—fucking—shit—” Zayn suddenly gasps out, his eyes tightly closed. Liam’s heart leaps for a second.  
  
“Zayn?”  
  
“Yeah, s’me, I just—listen, I need one of you—” and then it’s back to the violent twitching, which Liam realizes is a sign that the two are fighting for control of Zayn’s body.  
  
“Liam!” Zayn shouts, like he doesn’t have much time left to speak. “Liam—give—gun . . . Ben’s body . . .”

  


Zayn lets himself sink under the control of Ben again once he manages to get his message out. He can only pray that Liam understands; he doesn’t have the strength to make Liam do what he wants, as he needs to save it for controlling Ben’s body once Liam gives him the gun.  
  
He’d been reluctant to use Paul’s information—terrified to use it, actually—but seeing Ben hurt Liam had spurred him into action. It would have been easier to use it on someone else, but he can’t bring himself to do that. He’d promised himself he’d get his boys out alive. And he would.  
  
It’d just have to be without him.  
  
Ben’s not making his body look at Liam (he’s instead talking to Louis) so Zayn doesn’t know whether Liam’s caught on yet or not. And yeah, maybe he wants to look at Liam at least once more before he does this, because God knows it’d give him the strength to carry through with it.  
  
_I wish it didn’t have to turn out this way.  
_  
Ben has Zayn’s body throw a quick glance at Liam—the younger boy’s still crouched on the ground, and the blood he’s covered in makes Zayn’s heart ache—and it’s just long enough to see that Liam’s shoved his gun into the hand of Ben’s body.  
  
_Okay. You can do this.  
_  
But the truth is, he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to have to leave the boys— _his boys_ —and he doesn’t want Liam to have to go to bed alone tonight. He doesn’t want Louis to have no one to smoke with, no one to vent his feelings to or take the piss out of. He doesn’t want to leave Harry, with his dopey smile and bad puns and earnest love for yoga. He doesn’t want to leave Niall feeling guilty for attacking his possessed body, for robbing him of a proper goodbye.  
  
But mainly he doesn’t want to leave Liam.  
  
He’s spent his whole life trying to die, and now that he has to, he’d give anything to live.  
  
Zayn reaches out with his mind, finds Ben’s body and carefully brings it to life, making it pick up the gun and heft it a little, checking to see if it has bullets. Ben doesn’t notice, is still exchanging words with the other boys. Zayn refuses to pay attention to what he’s doing, though—doing this properly without Ben noticing is going to be difficult to say the least. He just hopes the boys will be able to keep him distracted for as long as it takes for him to shoot.  
  
He makes Ben’s body stand up—it’s a little weird, the thought that his mind is controlling Ben’s body while Ben’s mind is controlling his—and take a few wobbly steps forward, pulling back the safety catch and sighting the gun at his own figure. He’s never realized how fragile he looks, a thin silhouette standing opposite from the other four boys.  
  
Zayn feels Ben realize what he’s up to the minute the older man figures it out. Ben’s much stronger than he is at this point, but Zayn has the element of surprise, not to mention commitment—Ben, on the other hand, is thrown off balance by Zayn’s plan, and is torn between killing Zayn from the inside and jumping back into his own body—so he manages to take control of his own body for a split second, just long enough to lift both hands in the air and turn to face the gun that’s pointing at him.  
  
He has one burning glimpse of Liam’s horrified face before, using every last ounce of energy he has, he pulls the trigger.

  


_I love you. I’m in love with you._  
  
Three bullets punch holes into Zayn’s chest. Three bullets slice into his skin and rip through his ribcage, three bullets blaze like comets through his lungs, burning open a bloody path in their wake.  
  
_I love you._  
  
Three bullets before Zayn takes a staggering step backwards and then falls onto his back, hitting the cold hard floor in a splatter of blood that looks like a fucking ocean. Three bullets before Ben’s body slumps down onto the floor next to Liam like a rag doll.  
  
_I’m in love with you._  
  
The boys are frozen, utterly useless. Liam wants to scream, but there’s something huge and horrifying stuck in his throat, cutting off his air supply and choking him into silence. Liam wants to scream, but nothing comes out. It turns out that grief is just as silencing as possession.  
  
He doesn’t know who shot who, doesn’t know who was in control of what, but he knows that it’s Zayn’s body that’s laying on the floor with blood all over, knows that this is the sort of damage that can’t be undone. This is the sort of thing they tell you about in military training, the sort of thing that gives the veterans that train you that haunted look in their eyes. This is what they warn you about: watching someone get ripped apart in front of your very eyes.  
  
Ben’s body slowly comes back to life, but it looks like he can barely move; all what comes out of his mouth is a faint groan and a string of curse words, and then “My power . . .”  
  
“Zayn,” Liam finally gets out. He’s not entirely sure how he manages to get over to where Zayn’s lying, but somehow he makes it. Vaguely, he registers Louis screaming at Ben, berating him for information, and sees Niall pinning the older man down, sees Harry still frozen in place, glassy green eyes staring at nothing at all.  
  
“Zayn.”  
  
There’s no way to staunch the blood that’s coming from Zayn’s chest; Liam’s at once horrified and mesmerized by the brightness of it.  
  
“ _Zayn_.”  
  
A faint cough that sounds choked by blood. “ _Leeyum._ ”  
  
“Zayn—fuck—Zayn, please, what—what can I do?” Liam’s hands are shaking and covered in Zayn’s blood, warm and sticky and paint-red, and he’s gonna be sick if he thinks about it. “What happened?”  
  
“Shot m’self—to take away his powers—” Liam can hear the blood bubbling in the back of Zayn’s throat. The scream that’s he’s been holding back threatens to rip itself from his throat.  
  
“You—okay.” It’s not important now, nothing is important but stopping the redness from escaping Zayn’s torn apart body, nothing matters but finding a way to keep Zayn’s eyes open. “Okay. Okay. Zayn—please look at me, babe, please—”  
  
“S’okay, Liam,” Zayn mumbles, his eyes half closed. “M’gonna be fine. Doesn’t even hurt anymore, s’fine. Promise.”  
  
“No—no—it has to hurt, it’s bad if it doesn’t hurt any more, Zayn please, please hold on, we’ll get you out of here—”  
  
Zayn just shakes his head very, very slightly, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “No, babe, I—” He breaks off in a bloody cough, thin shoulders shaking.  
  
Liam can feel tears on his face, but he can’t remember when he started crying. There’s something hot and tight and frightening building up in the center of his chest; it feels like his ribcage is about to explode. The sound of the other boys' voices is nothing to him. Nothing exists but the broken body in his arms.  
  
“I love you,” Zayn whispers. “Tell the boys I love them.”  
  
“I will.” There are huge, horrible sobs shaking Liam’s entire body. He’s never felt this helpless, this useless in his entire life. The boy he loves is bleeding out in his arms, and there’s nothing he can do.  
  
“Okay . . .” Zayn’s face twists a little. “You lads are all—all okay? All alive?”  
  
“Yeah, we’re all good.” Liam can barely see anymore.  
  
“Good.” A faint smile curls up Zayn’s mouth. “Good. I—I did good?”  
  
“So good, babe,” Liam chokes out.  
  
Zayn’s eyes are falling shut, and the force bundled up in Liam’s chest is starting to physically hurt. He rocks Zayn’s fragile, bleeding body back and forth, trying not to scream.  
  
Zayn’s lips are moving again, just very slightly; Liam has to bend down to hear him. It’s barely a whisper, a hoarse slip of sound that he has to strain to hear.  
  
“I sh-should rather than anything—have, almost . . . when hugeness will sh-shut quietly, almost—your kiss . . .”  
  
And then his eyes close, and everything inside Liam is a painful raw mess of _I love you I love you I love you_ , and then something inside of Liam’s chest releases itself, and everything around him explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is nOT THE END OK THERE ARE STILL TWO MORE CHAPTERS TO GO. PLEASE DON'T HATE ME. PLEASE.  
> (leave me comments and kudos if you are so inclined)  
> I WON'T MAKE YOU WAIT TOO LONG FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER I PROMISE.  
> (thank you for reading)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay okay I'm so sorry this took much more longer than I had anticipated. I was dealing with family stuff, and then I was sick, and now I'm sick again (I'm typing this from my bed, which I have not left in three days), and this chapter was hard to write for some reason. But that's not important, because I did say I was gonna hurry, and it's been a while, so I am very very sorry ugh.  
> I think that's it; just get right to it. All usual disclaimers apply.

_Everything is burning. There’s a sheet of white hot energy exploding out from somewhere deep inside of him. Everything is burning, and Liam can’t make it stop, can only hunch over Zayn and choke out his grief while the world around him spirals into chaos.  
_  
There’s redness swirling from his hands into the drain. No matter how many times he washes them, he can’t get off Zayn’s blood. He’s fairly sure that all the real blood was washed off after the first few times he tried, but the sensation, the remembered stickiness and warmth, lingers.  
  
Zayn is laying two rooms away, barely breathing, and Liam burned up an entire building not even two hours ago, and Simon is still nowhere to be found. It feels like a bad dream, like he’s entered some warped alternate reality where the plot is all wrong but the characters are all the same.  
  
“Liam, love.” Louis’ voice is raw with tears but still incredibly gentle. “Turn off the water and come sit down.”  
  
“I keep seeing his blood,” Liam mumbles. He can’t bring himself to look at Louis, to see his red eyes and tear stains as proof of what happened. “I can’t get it off.”  
  
“There isn’t any blood on you, Li. C’mon and sit down; Paul said he’d be out to talk with us in a bit.”  
  
“Is—is Zayn—still—?”  
  
“Still breathing,” Louis says. “Just—yeah. For now.”  
  
Liam takes a deep breath. _For now_. “It was e.e. cummings.”  
  
Louis looks concerned, like he thinks Liam might be going crazy. “What?”  
  
“The last thing he said to me. _I should rather than anything have, almost when hugeness will shut quietly, almost, your kiss._ It’s the last line of the poem he read to me when I was in bed after I got shot.” He stares down at his hands, still covered in imagined blood. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?”  
  
Louis takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, and then blows it back out again. “Come to the living room with me, and we’ll wait for Paul,” he says instead of replying.  
  
Liam turns off the water and limps over sits down on the sofa with Louis. His leg is aching where Ben had made him shoot himself. “Where are Harry and Niall?”  
  
“They went back out to go look for Simon. I don’t think—I don’t think they could take it, being here waiting for . . .” Louis trails off, but Liam knows what he means. They couldn’t take waiting for Zayn to die.  
  
They sit in silence after that, waiting for Paul to come out of Zayn’s bedroom with news. Liam can’t bring himself to shut his burning eyes, knows that if he so much as blinks, Zayn will be imprinted on the back of his eyelids. He wonders if it’s the same for Louis, who knew Zayn longer than any of them.  
  
Paul stumbles out of Zayn’s bedroom, looking exhausted. Liam cranes his neck to see if he can catch a glimpse of anything happening inside, but all he sees is Eleanor’s figure bent over the bed before the door shuts behind Paul.  
  
“You boys want to explain what happened?”  
  
Louis and Liam exchange a long glance before Louis’ giving Paul a summary of what happened: Simon’s kidnapping, the bargain they’d turned down, the fight to get Simon back, the battle with Ben, and then . . .  
  
“We don’t know how he got shot, really,” Louis says. “Ben was possessing him right before he was, and then . . . Ben’s body shot him. I dunno what happened.”  
  
“He said he shot himself,” Liam says suddenly, hearing how rough his own voice is, how hoarse. “He said he did it to take away Ben’s powers. Whatever that means.”  
  
Paul opens his mouth, looking horrified, but before he has a chance to speak, Louis jumps in with, “Yeah, and then Liam made everything explode. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. Just like—massive waves of just, like, this pure energy pouring off of him.” He laughs bitterly, the sound a terrible contrast with his tear swollen eyes. “I mean, I guess we always did say that powers come in extenuating circumstances. God fucking knows that was a pretty extenuating circumstance.” He pauses. “Paul, mate, you okay?”  
  
Paul is white as a sheet. “Oh God,” he mumbles, sitting down heavily. “Oh, God. What did I do?”  
  
“Paul, what—”  
  
“He called me about a week ago, Zayn did,” Paul says hoarsely. “He asked me how you could shut down someone’s powers while you were being possessed. I told him—oh, God, I told him that the only way to do that was . . .” He clenches his eyes shut. “The only way to do that was to kill the person being possessed.”  
  
There’s a long silence. Liam thinks of the way Zayn had forced Ben to possess him, the way he’d ripped Ben out of Liam and pulled him into himself. He didn’t kill Liam to take out Ben—no, instead he’d made sure that he was the only one who’d have to die. _Everything is burning, and Liam is helpless. He can make the entire world go up in flames, but he can’t save the boy he loves, can’t stop the flood of redness from pouring out onto his hands_.  
  
“He sacrificed—he killed himself to save us,” Louis says after a moment, and God, Liam wishes he wouldn’t, because Zayn isn’t dead yet, is just barely breathing in the next room. “That’s . . .” He trails off, and once again, Liam fills the space in his head: _That’s so like Zayn._  
  
“So does Ben still have his powers, then?” Liam asks to distract himself. “I mean, Zayn’s not dead yet.”  
  
Paul shakes his head slowly. “I dunno. I wouldn’t think so. Zayn’s—close enough to dead that I think Ben’s out of luck. What did you do with him, anyway?”  
  
“After Liam pulled his little trick with his powers, Ben was almost dead,” Louis says. “Niall took him to the police station and turned him in for gang activity while we were bringing Zayn back here and calling you. He should be locked up for the next couple years or so. And with no powers, I don’t think he’ll bother us again.”  
  
Paul nods. He’s recovered a little bit of his color. “All right. I better get back to work. I’ll keep you updated on how he’s doing. Right now—” He looked down. “Right now, it’s not looking so good for him. He’s lost a lot of blood, and he keeps losing more. And I don’t think he has the strength to hold on—all that fighting and using his power had him drained even before he was shot, and now it’s making it hard for him to do simple things like even just breathe. The bullets did a lot of damage, as well. Splintered part of his ribcage, punctured his left lung. Missed his heart, fortunately, but at this point I don’t know how much of a difference that’s gonna make. He—he’s probably going to be gone by morning.” His voice is pinched and colorless.  
  
His words feel so clinical, so detached from the gory reality of it. Liam doesn’t think words can describe the way it felt to hold Zayn in his sob-shaken arms, the pain that built up in his chest, constricting his throat and squeezing his heart. Even the wave of furious, white-hot energy that had exploded outwards from him, the power he had yet to define and explore, didn’t come close to expressing his grief, his choking sorrow.  
  
“Is he—is he awake?” Because Liam will be damned if he lets Zayn go without telling him how much he loves him.  
  
“No, son, I’m sorry. He was unconscious even before we started working, and I made sure to put him to sleep so he wouldn’t wake up while we were stitching him up, or something.” Paul smiles sadly. “Always did hate being put to sleep, that one. Even when he was having nightmares, or his arm set, or something else, he always wanted to be awake.” He shrugs. “All right, I’ll get going, lads. Hang in there.” He walks back to the bedroom, footsteps slow and heavy.  
  
Liam feels like he’s going to scream.  
  
“You want to practice with your powers or something?”  
  
He shakes his head. He can’t even think about doing anything but sitting here and concentrating his full will upon Zayn, like he can wish him back to health.  
  
“I wonder when Haz and Niall will be back,” Louis mutters. “They should be here. In case—to say their goodbyes.”  
  
“Yeah,” Liam says, eyes trained on the carpet. No matter how many goodbyes he says, no matter how many times he’ll prepare himself for the inevitable, he knows it isn’t going to hurt any less. There’s no good way to say goodbye. Not when it’s Zayn, Zayn with his soft brown eyes and warm smile and Northern accent that gets thicker when he’s tired. Not when it’s Zayn who will be laying still for the rest of forever when he should be getting ready to fall asleep at Liam’s side, thin arms curled around Liam’s waist and long eyelashes brushing his cheeks as his eyes fall shut in sleep.  
  
“I remember the first time I saw him,” Louis says quietly. “He was this skinny little thing with scruffy hair; you could see his bones through his T-shirt. Couldn’t even look me or Simon in the eye, and he kept flinching away from us if we touched him. Thought we were gonna hurt him, or something. It’s been so fucking long since then, you know? And so much changed. Back then I never thought I’d find me best mate in this scrawny bloke with powers I was terrified of.”  
  
Liam draws in a deep breath. In. Out. Thinks of the first time he ever saw Zayn, warm eyes and a kind smile. The way Liam had thought that he’d never seen someone so beautiful. He hadn’t known how right he was, hadn’t known that behind that heart-breakingly gorgeous face existed a brave, broken, kind boy he’d have the privilege to love.  
  
“And I just—I just don’t understand why it had to be him,” Louis said, his voice choked. “I dunno why—he deserved so much better, yeah? He deserved to b-be happy with you, and—” His voice gives out to sobs, and then Liam’s watching him cry helplessly and wishing that Louis would stop talking about Zayn in the past tense.  
  
The door to the flat opens after a bit, and Niall and Harry walk in, faces pale and shoulders tense.  
  
“Did you find him?” Liam asks.  
  
“Yeah. He’s relatively fine,” Niall says tiredly. “Brought him back to his flat. Ben—Ben took his powers. They’re gone. How’s Zayn?” His voice breaks a little at the end.  
  
“Paul and Eleanor are still trying,” Louis says. Harry sits down next to him, wraps his arms around the smaller boy comfortingly. “But he’s—Paul said he’ll be d-dead by morning.”  
  
Niall swallows visibly and sits down on the carpet by Liam’s feet. “Zayn’s strong, though, yeah? He’ll make it. He’s always made it. He—he’s lived through worse, y’know. Much worse.”  
  
His rambling makes Liam feel a little better, before Harry shakes his head. “Niall . . .”  
  
“What?” Niall says defensively. “It’s true. He’s lived through worse than a lil bullet wound, yeah? He’ll make it!”  
  
Liam’s head is starting to hurt with the weight of everyone’s words and worry and guilt and grief, and all he can think is _I love you I love you I love you_ , all he can think is _almost, when hugeness will shut quietly, almost, your kiss._  
  
“Liam?” Harry asks, and his voice sounds far away. Liam’s leg is throbbing unbearably even though Eleanor stitched it up and bandaged it before tending to Zayn. “Liam? Are you okay?”  
  
He tries to say, “Yeah, I’m fine,” but nothing comes out, and then everything goes black.

  


Liam wakes up to someone shaking his shoulder. “Liam,” a voice says. “Liam, wake up.”  
  
“Zayn?” he mumbles hopefully, the idea that the past twenty four hours were just a dream coming to him, that he’s in bed with Zayn and nothing’s wrong.  
  
“Not Zayn, sorry,” the voice says, and Liam realizes that it’s Louis. “Just me, mate. Y’gotta get up now.”  
  
He opens his eyes. He’s in his bed, the sheets rumpled and the other side of the bed cold and completely devoid of Zayn. That, more than Louis’ tear-hoarse voice, tells him that he’s still stuck in the harsh reality of what happened.  
  
“What’s going on?” he asks, more to stop thinking than anything else. “What happened?”  
  
“You passed out,” Louis says, sitting back on his heels. “And then Paul came and put you to sleep; he said that you shouldn’t be awake. Too much stress or something.”  
  
“Is Zayn still—”  
  
“Yeah. But it’s nearly morning, and he—he’s just barely here. I woke you up cause . . . Well, Paul and Eleanor went home. They said—”  
  
“They _what_?”  
  
“They went home.”  
  
Liam can feel fresh tears start to prick his eyes. “They just gave up on him? They’re not even gonna try?”  
  
“They said they’d be hurting more than helping at this point. And they wanted to give us some privacy to—say our goodbyes.”  
  
“I don’t want to say my goodbyes!” Liam says, his voice rising. “I don’t want to have to watch Zayn fucking die, Louis! That’s not fucking fair, okay? I shouldn’t have to give up on him, and you shouldn’t be giving up on him, and he shouldn’t even be fucking dying in the first place! I can’t just let him go like that. I can’t just—just let him die. I—I—” He can feel the beginning of a sob starting to wrack his shoulders, tries to choke it back without success. “He deserves better than that,” he whispers, “he deserves a chance. He’s only twenty two, Louis. He should have his whole life—I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.” And now he’s crying in earnest, because he can’t reconcile the fact that Zayn will soon be laying cold and still with the brilliant boy he knows and loves, the Zayn who loves to sleep in late and doodle on paper napkins and hum in the shower when he’s in a good mood. The Zayn who fell apart under him on the sheets barely even a day ago, the Zayn who read him poetry and looked at him with the entire universe in his eyes.  
  
Louis doesn’t say anything for a while, and then, very quietly: “For what it’s worth, Liam, I never saw him happier than when he was around you.”  
  
That only makes Liam cry harder. Louis rubs his shoulder in comforting circles, wraps an arm around him, presses his lips against Liam’s temple. And Liam appreciates it, he does, but he also wishes that it was Zayn comforting him. Which is ridiculous, because if Zayn was there, he wouldn’t need comforting.  
  
Eventually, his tears dry out, and he’s left with only a cold sort of emptiness in his chest, vastly different from the tight pain he’d felt minutes before Zayn’s eyes had closed and his powers had exploded outwards. Which, now that he thinks about, haven’t shown themselves since then. Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s too scared to use them now. He doesn’t want to burn the flat building down.  
  
“Harry and Niall are waiting in the living room,” Louis says finally. “Maybe we should go join them, yeah?”  
  
“Okay,” Liam says, all the emotion drained from him.  
  
Louis helps Liam stand, and they go into the next room together.  
  
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Harry says when they walk in. Niall’s sitting next to him, and all Liam can think is that Zayn is alone in his bedroom, clinging to life with no one beside him. “We should have a talk, yeah?”  
  
“A talk about what?”  
  
“About Zayn. And what we’re gonna do after—after he’s gone.”  
  
Liam just looks at him blankly. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, are we gonna keep doing what we do? Are we gonna just—give up on it? I mean, can we even keep going without him?”  
  
“I think we can,” Louis says quietly. Everyone turns to look at him. “I think we should. It’s what he would have wanted, you know? He wouldn’t have wanted us to just give up cause he is gone. We owe him that much. It’s not gonna be the same, but it’s not over, either.”  
  
“He’s not gone yet,” Liam grits out, teeth clenched against anger and pain. “Stop acting like he’s dead already, because he’s not.”  
  
“Liam—”  
  
“He’s not! He’s still here, so stop acting like he isn’t.” He stands up, his bad leg wobbling underneath him. “I’m gonna go check on him.”  
  
“Okay, Liam.” He can hear the resignation in Louis’ voice, knows that the older boy has already given up, has accepted that Zayn’s slipping away as they speak. Liam’s not sure if it’s stronger to accept the truth, or to keep hoping beyond hope. He guesses that it doesn’t really matter; in the end, he’s just not ready to let Zayn go, doesn’t know if he ever will be. They had only gotten a fraction of the time together that they should have had. Part of him almost want to be angry with Zayn for purposefully cutting that time short, but a much bigger part of him knows that Zayn had done what the rest of them couldn’t have: he’d gotten them all out alive. No matter what happens, that ultimate sacrifice can’t be belittled by Liam’s frustration at being robbed of time with Zayn.  
  
He opens Zayn’s door quietly—as if it makes a difference to the limp form on the bed—and walks in, his footsteps uneven and his leg aching and tense. Something inside him twists when he sits down on the edge of the bed and looks at Zayn’s still face. For a moment, he has a blazing panic attack, thinking that Zayn’s already dead, but then his fingers find a faint pulse, and his own heartrate slows in relief.  
  
It’s more painful than he would have thought, seeing Zayn like this, and all the more difficult because Liam can’t help but think that it’s the same sort of quiet vulnerability he shows in sleep. And if Liam thinks like that, he’ll be expecting him to wake up, which Zayn’s not going to do. Even if he becomes conscious for a few last gasping breaths of air at the end, Liam will never see him animated with the same sort of brilliance that makes Zayn, Zayn.  
  
“Hey,” he says finally, even though he knows Zayn can’t hear him. “I miss you.” He struggles for a moment, trying to find words through the blockade of emotion in his throat. “I—I’m gonna miss you, babe.”  
  
There’s not even a flicker of emotion or recognition on Zayn’s face. His impossibly long eyelashes cast fine black shadows on his face; Liam reaches out to brush his thumb over his cheekbone gently, watching the pulse throb weakly through his throat.  
  
“I know it was e.e. cummings you were quoting,” he whispers. “That poem’s really beautiful, babe. Almost as beautiful as you are.” He can see the poetry book from where he’s sitting; it’s on the bedside table. There’s a few dog-eared pages, a habit of Zayn’s that Liam’s always abhorred, because _bookmarks exist for a reason, babe._ “It’s gonna be tough without you. I wish—” He takes the deep, painful, shuddery kind of breath that always comes before bursting into tears “—I wish that we’d gotten more time. This isn’t fair.”  
  
There’s nothing more to say after that except _I love you_ , but Liam can’t bring himself to push those three words past his lips, because that would feel an awful lot like _goodbye_. 

  


It’s afternoon, and Zayn is still struggling for air in his bedroom, fragile bones holding up against the bullets that nearly forced them to collapse. The boys take turns watching him for signs of improvement or—or—well, there’s nowhere to go down from here. Only death. So they watch for that, too.  
  
Right now it’s Niall’s turn to sit with him, which means that Liam’s sitting in Louis’ bedroom, mainly because somewhere along the line, someone had decided that no one should be alone right now. All Liam wants is to be alone, actually, but the rule is still stands. Why it’s necessary, Liam’s unclear on; apparently being alone with your grief isn’t healthy, or something.  
  
Zayn’s dying. Liam wants to be with him.  
  
“You’re hurt, and you need to eat and rest,” Louis says whenever Liam puts up a fight. “Zayn wouldn’t want you to neglect yourself.”  
  
Which, okay, is kind of a dirty trick to pull, but the annoying thing is that it’s also true, so Liam has no choice but to let them divide the task of sitting with Zayn equally. When he’s not with Zayn, he lays on the floor of whatever bedroom they’re sitting in, and stares at the ceiling numbly, feeling his leg throb with a kind of depersonalized detachment that registers the pain but somehow doesn’t really feel it. Or maybe that’s just because compared to the hollow agony in his chest, his leg doesn’t hurt all that much. He listens to Harry and Louis talk together quietly, his mind playing a loop of _Zayn Zayn Zayn_ , wondering much time he has left. It’s his turn to sit with him next. He thinks about the way Zayn looks when he’s sleeping, how he said that his nightmares go away when he’s with Liam. How he said that Liam could calm him down like no one could when he was having a bad day. He thinks about nothing at all.  
  
When his leg clenches with a fresh spasm of pain, he reaches down to clasp it with fingers that do little to soothe the aching. Hopefully this will heal as fast as his shoulder did. Even that is spare comfort against the thought that he can’t heal Zayn—  
  
“Li, it’s your turn.” Niall appears in the doorway, face drawn, bags under his eyes. He helps Liam stand up and then pats his shoulder. “Hang in there, bro.”  
  
“Yeah,” Liam says tiredly.  
  
He hears Harry say, “Do y’think he’ll be okay?” as he stumbles to Zayn’s bedroom and sits down heavily, feeling more exhausted than he ever has in his life. The truth is that no, he doesn’t think he’ll be okay. But that’s neither here nor there, because he has the next half hour to sit with Zayn and try to wish this whole situation away.  
  
Fifteen minutes in, his leg nearly collapses under a twisting stab of pain, and he can’t help but think of his shoulder again. How quickly it healed.  
  
Then he thinks about taking away Zayn’s nightmares.  
  
Then he thinks about calming him down when Zayn was panicking under an onslaught of flashbacks.  
  
_Even that is spare comfort against the thought that he can’t heal Zayn . . ._  
  
His heart nearly stops. The next he knows, he’s awkwardly standing up and staggering into Louis’ bedroom. They all look up, pure panic written all over their feature, the fear that he was bringing bad news.  
  
“Can I have a little more time with Zayn than usual?” he gasps, and sees them relax when they realize it’s nothing bad. “It’s important, please.”  
  
“Yeah—yeah, okay,” Louis looks shaken. “Just don’t scare me like that again.”  
  
“Sorry, sorry.” And then he’s off again, limping back to Zayn as fast as he can. Maybe, just maybe . . .  
  
When he sits down, he pulls the blankets away from Zayn’s chest; the older boy has a fever now, and his skin scorches against Liam’s like hot coals. Liam’s prepared himself for a gruesome sight, but the wounds have been cleaned and bandaged by Paul and Eleanor, and they don’t seem to be bleeding anymore. Which he guesses is a good sign, at least.  
  
His fingers are shaking when he peels back the bandages and presses his fingers against Zayn’s torn, burning skin, feeling the blood rise up against his hands. He desperately tries not to be sick, because he has to at least try this, right? He hopes this won’t make it worse. God, he just hopes it won’t kill Zayn.  
  
Liam reaches deep into himself, pulls out something out from the hollowness in his chest. It’s not the blazing rage of last night when he used his powers to burn the entire office building down, it’s not that sort of wild, unchecked energy that defies matter and gravity to tear the world apart. No, this is a soft wisp of hopeful power, something gentle and comforting, something to stitch a person back to together after being ripped open. He’s still not entirely sure what his powers can do—all he has to go on is that he can create massive amounts of pure energy and maybe has the ability to speed up the healing process or alleviate certain symptoms—but if this is the only chance Zayn has, Liam’s gonna give it a go.  
  
“Please,” he whispers before taking a deep breath. “ _Please._ ”  
  
And then he lets the energy loose.

  


Zayn’s floating in darkness, his chest bound with burning ropes that make it impossible to breathe. He’s drowning in his own blood, struggling to move while being held by his own bones. Every part of him is leaden, frozen, blazing with agony.  
  
“Zayn—oh, God, Zayn, I’m—I’m so sorry. Oh God . . .” Someone is sobbing far, far above him. He tries to reach out and comfort them, but he’s paralyzed by pain.  
  
“I’m s-so, so sorry. I th-thought it would help—oh, God, Zayn . . . Zayn, babe, I’m sorry.” The person is gasping through heavy sobs; it sounds like they, like Zayn, are being suffocated. “Fuck—babe, I—” A pair of arms scoop him up, and then he’s being held against someone’s chest, incredibly gently. “Fuck, I’m so stupid . . . thinking I could s-save you . . .”  
  
It’s Liam.  
  
_Liam_.  
  
That means that Zayn, somehow, impossibly, is alive. He’s alive and Liam is here and _he can’t breathe_.  
  
Panic sets in as he tries to draw air into his lungs, but he can’t even open his eyes, let alone do something like breathing. He needs to get to Liam—he needs to live for Liam—he needs to make Liam stop crying like that, because it sounds like he’s trying to choke himself on his own tears.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Liam whispers, and Zayn wants to scream _for what?_ “I am so, so sorry, babe. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you, I love you, I love you.”  
  
And then the impossible happens—something opens in Zayn’s throat, and his lungs expand the tiniest bit, and then there’s a trickle of air that gets in him somehow, and then _he’s alive,_ and there’s another stab of pain through his chest, enough to make him scream if he had the air to. But it’s okay, because he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, and he’ll be able to tell Liam how much he loves him once he figures out this whole drowning in his own blood thing.  
  
It hurts when he draws in a rasping breath loud enough to hear, and he lets out an embarrassing whimper afterwards, but it’s worth it to feel Liam freeze above him.  
  
“Zayn?” His voice sounds cautious, like he’s not sure whether he’s imagining things or not.  
  
Zayn manages a strangled noise that tries to be Liam’s name before he curls up in pain, a futile and needless attempt to protect his chest from further injury. His brain goes fuzzy, and for a moment he only exists as a wounded animal on the edge of consciousness, a personification of anguish with no breath left to scream.  
  
“Zayn? Are you—did you—?”  
  
“Liam,” he croaks, shaking with the effort it takes to speak. “Liam.”  
  
And then Liam is crying again, harder than before, huge torrents of tears that Zayn can feel hot and wet against his bare skin. “Oh, God, Zayn, I thought I’d killed you—fuck, I tried this thing with my powers, and--oh, God, but it looked like it'd killed you, I thought I’d killed you. I th-thought you were dead. Oh, God, you’re not dead—”  
  
And that's all confusing as hell, but he doesn't have the energy to worry about it right now, so he reaches up blindly—he still hasn’t been able to open his eyes—and brushes a clumsy hand across Liam’s face, feeling the familiar feature and then cupping his cheek. “M’okay,” he chokes out. “I’m alive.”  
  
Liam squeezes him to his chest tightly but still gently, shoulders shaking. “You’re okay,” he repeats, voice trembling. “You’re alive. You’re alive. I—fuck—I love you.”  
  
“Love—you—too—” Zayn says, curling into Liam’s warmth, terrified that in the next moment, he’s going to lose his fragile grip on life.  
  
“Oh, fuck—okay, okay—just sit still, yeah? Does it hurt?”  
  
“Yeah, it fucking hurts.”  
  
“Sorry, dumb question—okay, let me just—” And then Liam’s pressing his hands onto Zayn’s chest, and there’s an awful burning sensation, like his very nerve endings are on fire, and then the pain subsides a little.  
  
“How—?”  
  
“I’ll explain later,” Liam promises, hiccupping a little through his tears. “Just rest up, yeah? I love you so, so much.”  
  
“I love you,” Zayn says. “I love you.”

  


When Zayn wakes up for the second time, Liam makes sure that all the boys are in the room. Some small, selfish part of him wants to hold Zayn close and never let anyone see him again, wants to keep him from the rest of the world to make sure that he’ll never be hurt again, but he also knows how badly this has taken a toll on them all, and the other boys need to see that Zayn will be fine.  
  
As the four of them sit there tensely waiting for Zayn to show signs of life, Liam studies his boyfriend with the meticulousness of someone trying to memorize something well enough for a lifetime. The curve of his shoulder under the blankets, the frightening shallow rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair falls into his eyes without his usual product—he’s acutely aware that even if Zayn woke up a while ago, the danger is not completely gone, and he wants to remember these things just in case.  
  
_I love you. I’m in love with you._  
  
“This better not be some sort of delusional thing you dreamed up,” Louis said after what felt like hours. “Payno, I love you, but if he doesn’t wake up, I’m gonna kill you. I can’t lose him twice.”  
  
“It’s not something I dreamed up,” Liam insists. He reaches under the covers to soothe Zayn’s chest with a little more energy, still not quite sure what he’s doing, but at least knowing now that playing by ear had helped before. “He woke up, and he’s gonna be okay.”  
  
Something inside of him sings at the thought, swearing never to take waking up next to Zayn for granted again. _If you let me have him,_ he thinks, not even sure who he’s directing it to, _I’ll do anything. I would go to the ends of the earth to save him. I would do anything. Please_.  
  
Eons later, Zayn’s eyes open again, and he makes a small, helpless sound of pain. Liam can hear Louis spluttering with excitement, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the form in the bed.  
  
“Hey, babe,” he says very gently. “You okay?”  
  
“Getting there,” Zayn says hoarsely, the corner of his mouth curling upwards in a tiny smile. “All you lads . . . came in here just for me? Y’shouldn’t have.”  
  
“Zayn, you fucking _awful_ bloody martyr,” Louis says explosively. “You were gonna _die_. We thought you were gonna _die_. You almost _died. You could still die._ What the _fuck_ , honestly.”  
  
“S-sorry . . .” Zayn says. “Did it for you boys.”  
  
Louis looks like he’s about to start throwing lightning bolts, so Liam reaches over to pat his shoulder. “It’s okay now, Louis. He’s okay.”  
  
“He’s not okay,” Louis says, his voice sounding choked up. “He’s not. He’s—” And then he’s crying, sobbing into Zayn’s covers like a child. “I th-thought I was gonna lose you,” he hiccups out after a moment. “Promise me never to do something like that again.”  
  
“Promise,” Zayn says, reaching over to stroke Louis’ hair with a shaking hand, his face twisting a little with the effort it takes.  
  
Liam looks over to Harry and Niall, sees that they, too, are covered in tears. Zayn looks in their direction at almost the same time with a weak grin.  
  
“What . . . no hello from y-you two?”  
  
And then everyone’s throwing themselves on Zayn in a massive group hug, and Zayn’s choking out “Can’t—breathe,” which causes come mild alarm, and once they all draw back to give him space, it’s like none of them can keep their hands off him; someone’s always checking his pulse or smoothing his hair or clasping his hand like they just have to make sure he’s real.  
  
“M’not going anywhere,” Zayn promises. “I’m staying right here with you lads.”  
  
Liam thinks of the massive sacrifice Zayn had made to keep them safe, thinks about his own raw and untested powers that had somehow saved him, thinks of all the times Zayn could have died, but had lived through to be miraculously, impossibly laying here with a bandaged chest and smiling eyes, and then thinks that maybe this was all meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much angst, wow. Hopefully that's the outcome you guys were hoping for!! There will be a better description of Liam's powers in the next chapter, more finalizing with Simon, and lotsa other fun stuff! Also next chapter is the last one *wipes tear*. I feel like this fic is my baby, and now I'm getting ready to send it off to university because it's grown up so fast....
> 
> Okay. Please leave me comments and kudos if you are so inclined, and yell at me for not updating in time because I'm terrible. I looove you all, thanks for reading, and sorry for the wait again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even the bad guys in the dark night could take it all away  
> Or the superhero au where Louis is (literally) electrifying, Niall is like a less green hulk, and Harry has X-ray vision because if there’s a God, he’s cruel. Oh, and don’t forget Zayn, the most powerful superhero since Batman who’s trying to keep himself from falling apart by keeping secrets, and Liam, the ex-soldier and superhero who hasn’t found out what his power is yet, and just hopes it’s something that will save them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...so...last chapter here, guys. We're at the end of the line. I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to go throw myself a little party for finishing the longest piece of writing I've ever attempted. I didn't give up half way through or anything. That's something worth celebrating, right?  
> Before we proceed, I would like to say what an amazing response the last chapter got. I've been surprised and thrilled by all the love I've gotten throughout this entire fic, but the comments section on chapter 14 were so luminous and emotional, I'm totally gonna print them out and hang them above my bed so I can look at them when I'm feeling down. So a very very special thanks and shoutout to everyone who commented last time, you guys rock.  
> Okay, I'm gonna do a bit of emotional rambling at the end because that's what I do and also cause this is the last chapter, so I'll shut up for now. All usual disclaimers apply, my friends. Please enjoy.

When he looks up, the mirror shows Zayn a pitiful reflection: sharp-elbowed arms, chest held together with medical tape and Eleanor’s bandages, razor-edge hips disappearing into a pair of grey joggers he could swim in. His face isn’t much better, either, with its two days’ worth of stubble and dark wet hair falling messily over his forehead, and his head is swimming from the effort of standing up. The inspection makes him feel fifteen again, examining his bruised, bony, blood-covered reflection in the cracked mirror of the bathroom after waking up with two slit wrists, listening to the world that had just opened up in his head and wondering what the hell he was going to do. Sometimes, he doesn’t feel like he’s ever really left that frightened boy behind, but lately . . . lately, he’s felt like he’s never been farther from him.  
  
The door of the bathroom swings open, and Zayn squeaks in protest as Liam charges in with a grin on his face.  
  
“Liam, you animal, I’m changing!”  
  
“Like that’s anything I haven’t seen before,” Liam snorts, wrapping his arms around Zayn from behind and folding him into his huge, warm embrace. Zayn lets himself put a bit of his weight on him to ease the dizziness. “Are you feeling okay?”  
  
“Yeah, feeling a bit better.” It’s been over a week since Liam woke him up, but making a recovery is taking forever. He can stand up now, and sometimes walk, but he’s dizzy and tired and coughs a lot, and his chest hurts like hell even just from breathing. But he’s alive, which is more than he could have hoped for, so as agonizing as recovery is going to be, he’s not going to complain.  
  
“That’s good.” Liam presses a kiss onto his shoulder and Zayn bites back a smile, trying not to laugh because laughing is a bitch for his chest right now.  
  
“Why’d you come in here anyway?”  
  
“Harry made lunch, and it’s fajitas, so if you want any, you better hurry.”  
  
“You disturbed me changing for fajitas,” Zayn muses, and then nods. “Yeah, all right, that’s justified. Lemme get a shirt on.” He reaches over and pulls on the T-shirt laying on the counter, wincing as the motion sends spikes of pain through his chest.  
  
“That’s mine, you thief.”  
  
Zayn shrugs and grins. “I’m your boyfriend, it’s practically in my job description to steal your clothes.”  
  
Liam groans affectionately and bends down to kiss him again, this time on the lips. Zayn lets it deepen, runs the tip of his tongue over the softness of Liam’s bottom lip and the sharp slick line of his teeth. Liam pulls away after a moment, smiling so that his eyes crinkle up in the way that tugs at Zayn’s heartstrings, makes him want to make sure that Liam smiles like that all the time.  
  
“Okay, Bambi, let’s get you some lunch.”  
  
“ _Bambi_?”  
  
“Well, you’re tiny and you have big eyes and you’re really cute,” Liam says, like that’s a perfectly sensible progression to _Bambi_.  
  
“I’m not _tiny_ ,” Zayn says, straightening up and pulling his shoulders back to puff out his chest, “I’m—I’m—” And then he breaks off into a fit of coughing, which really fucking hurts, okay, and he doesn’t feel impressive or big at all, which was what he’d been going for.  
  
Liam looks appropriately worried, but also the tiniest bit amused, like this just proves his point. Once Zayn’s fit subsides, he scoops him up without much effort, bridal style, and carries him to the kitchen, where the boys are already eating voraciously.  
  
“How’re you feelin’?” Niall asks immediately.  
  
“Okay,” Zayn says as Liam sets him down in a chair. “Like you’re supposed to feel after being shot, I guess.”  
  
“You were shot a whole week ago, get over yourself, Malik,” Louis says dismissively.  
  
“Like you weren’t sobbing like a baby when I woke up,” Zayn retorts, filling up his plate.  
  
“I mean, it’s whatever, I guess,” Louis shrugs, and they exchange companionable grins. Zayn knows from the other boys that Louis’s been a mess over this whole thing; teasing is just his way of dealing with it.  
  
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, anyway,” Harry says. “Oh, and Liam—Simon called for you. He says to drop by his flat later; he wants to have a chat about your powers, apparently.”  
  
“Brilliant,” Liam says. He sits down next to Zayn and slides a fajita off his plate.  
  
“Hey, get your own food.”  
  
“Get your own shirt.”  
  
“You guys are so gross,” Niall said. “Almost as gross as these two.” He jerks his thumb at Harry and Louis, who are kissing over their plates, and then sighs. “It’s fuckin’ tough, being the only single one in this flat, y’know that?”  
  
“Aw, Niall, you’ll find a lovely lady soon.”  
  
Niall grins and thumps his chest. “Single people represent.”  
  
Harry and Louis dive on him, covering him in a tangle of hair and kisses and coos of “Aww, Nialler, you know we love you, aww, baby.” Liam jumps on top of them a minute later, starting to tickle them all until they squeal and topple off their chairs, falling to the floor in a squirming heap of arms and legs and giggling affection. Zayn watches them and laughs until his chest is burning up with the effort of happiness. He’s never felt so far from that fifteen year old boy in his life.

  


Simon looks gaunt and haggard when he opens the door to let Liam in, but his voice still has the same clipped, professional tone it used to.  
  
“Liam!” he says, stepping aside so Liam can enter. “So glad you could make it. How’s Zayn doing?”  
  
“Recovering slowly but surely,” Liam says, kicking off his shoes. It’s odd, seeing Simon in person and not on a Skype screen; the last time he’d been in Simon’s flat was when he’d interviewed for the “job” Simon had wanted him for all that time ago.  
  
“I’m happy to hear that. He’s a good lad, I would have been sad to lose him. He’s lucky to have you. Tea?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Simon starts boiling water and gestures for Liam to sit down at the kitchen table. “And how’re you doing yourself?”  
  
“I’m doing fine. Great, actually.” He looks down at his hands, thinks of the energy sparkling along his fingers. “I’m just—yeah, really good. Happy that Zayn’s okay, happy I finally got my powers, happy we all made it.” He looks at Simon cautiously. “How are you?”  
  
Simon pauses for a moment, and then shrugs. “Do you know what, I’m actually rather all right. I mean, aside from things like malnutrition and all the annoying little things like that that come with being kidnapped.”  
  
“You mean you’re okay with losing your powers?”  
  
Simon pours the water into two mugs and drops a teabag into each, making a dismissive gesture with one hand like _what can you do?_ “Well, when he first shut them off, it was terrible. Almost crippling. It would have been worse had I been more powerful—say, if Zayn’s powers would have been taken away, it would have nearly killed him.”  
  
“Ben was pretty shaken up when he lost his,” Liam agrees thoughtfully.  
  
“Precisely. But as it was, my powers were rather basic, and did nothing to really affect me in daily life. Really, I only ever saw a handful of ‘superheroes’ in my life, and so really only truly used my powers a few times, when I first identified them. So the loss of that . . . I’m just learning to live with it.” He shrugs again, handing a mug to Liam. “Maybe I’ll retire. But this meeting is about you, isn’t that correct? How about you tell me what you know about your powers so far.”  
  
“Erm—all right,” Liam says. “Well, I sort of started using it when I thought Zayn had died. No—I actually think I was doing it before then, but I just didn’t realize it. But I started _consciously_ doing it then. Like, I was, uh, I was holding him, and just—just crying, and then his eyes shut, and like, I wanted to just scream, you know? There was this feeling in my chest like it was going to explode, like I was feeling too much to keep it all in, and then there was just this, like, this blast, y’know, this explosion all around me. Apparently it just about killed Ben. And it ended up burning the building up.”  
  
“Interesting,” Simon says. “But obviously this isn’t just a destructive power like, say, Louis’, because you did heal Zayn. How did you do that?”  
  
“Well, that was the second time I consciously used it. I just—I was thinking about how I can calm Zayn down when he’s having a bit of a hard time, or how he says I can make his nightmares go away, and then I was thinking about when I got shot, my shoulder healed, you know, quite quickly. And then I just thought maybe . . .”  
  
Simon snorts. “That’s not much to go on, Liam.”  
  
“No, yeah, I know. But I just had to give it a try, you know? I had to try and save him, cause if I didn’t, and he ended up dying when there was even the tiniest chance I could have healed him, I dunno if I could’ve lived with myself, knowing that maybe, just maybe, I could have done something.”  
  
“I suppose that sentiment is understandable when someone you love is in danger. I do want you to know how risky that was, however.”  
  
Liam ducks his head. “Yeah. So, like, I just sort of, like, put my hands on his chest? And then, like, reached inside of myself, and pulled out this, like, energy and channeled it inside of him. And then his pulse completely stopped. I thought I’d killed him. And I was just torn apart, y’know? Couldn’t believe how utterly stupid I’d been, thinking I could do something like save him. But then I heard him take this awful, rattling breath that sounded like death, and he made this sound like he was in so much pain, but then he was talking and everything, and it was okay. Well, I mean, it wasn’t _okay_ , exactly, not right then, anyway, but it got better. He keeps getting better.” He smiles down into his mug, thinks of the way Zayn’s been stubbornly clinging to life even through all the pain and trouble. It hasn’t just been Liam getting him through this—it’s been a joint work. Zayn’s strength and Liam’s power. They’ve beaten this together.  
  
“Well,” Simon says, putting down his mug with a frown. “That’s certainly very interesting. A power that can be used to both destroy and heal. Hmph.”  
  
“Is that bad?”  
  
“No, no, not bad at all. Just . . . very unusual. Most powers are like Louis’ or Niall’s—they’re really only used to do one thing, which in the case of the boys, is destruction, or in, say, Paul’s case, healing. Harry’s is a bit more unusual in the sense that it’s not really used for either, but I’ve really only ever heard of one other person who can do both, as you can.”  
  
Liam waits.  
  
“That person, of course, is Zayn. Which is also interesting. It may even explain part of the attraction you have towards each other.”  
  
Liam flushes a little, fidgeting in his chair. “But, I mean, we, uh, we got together before I found out—”  
  
“Well, obviously, but it was still inside you. And as you said, you seemed to be using subconsciously in certain cases. Like I said, it’s interesting. As for the real limits and abilities you have, I’ll do some research and give you a call.”  
  
“That sounds great, Simon, thanks,” Liam says sincerely. “That’d really help.”  
  
“Of course. This “energy” force you say you use is very intriguing. And I should get in at least one more project before I get down to really retiring.”  
  
“You’re really going to retire, then?”  
  
“I’ve lost my powers. Which weren’t much of a help to you boys in the first place, besides ensuring that you were all discovered and banded together, but it feels different without them. Physically, I’m fine, like I said, but I feel older. More tired. I think I’ll let you boys scout out your own jobs and do your own research after a while. Maybe wean you off slowly.”  
  
“I think you deserve a rest,” Liam says, because Simon does, really. After everything he’s done for them, retirement probably sounds like a dream.  
  
“I think I do too.”

  


On the way home from Simon’s flat, Liam makes a call to his mum. He hasn’t called her in a few weeks with all the drama that’s been going on, but he’d set up a voicemail that would have been sent to her and told her everything a few weeks after the rescue mission if they hadn’t succeeded. The way he’d figured, it wouldn’t have hurt for her to know the truth about how he’d died. As it is, though, there is no need for the voicemail, so he cancels it before dialing her number.  
  
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says immediately when she picks up. “How are you? Haven’t heard from you in forever, I expect you’ve been quite busy.”  
  
“Oh yeah, insanely busy,” he says with a laugh. “You’ve got no idea, really.”  
  
“Well, you’ve been doing good, yeah? Keeping safe and everything?”  
  
“Um.” _Well, if you count invading a gang’s headquarters as safe, then yeah._  
  
“Sorry, love, that was a bit of a silly question. I’m sure it’s hard to keep safe in your line of work.”  
  
He feels a quick pang of guilt at the thought that she has no idea what he really does—they’ve all agreed not to let their families know what they can do. It’s safer for everyone involved. In Louis’ and Niall’s case, where their families already know (because their powers are somewhat harder to hide), they don’t speak much with their families anyway. “It’s a bit tough, yeah, but I try, Mum.”  
  
“I’m sure you do. It’s nice to hear your voice again, sweetheart.”  
  
“Nice to hear you too.” He switches the phone to the other ear and takes a deep breath. “Okay, so why I’m really calling is—well, I’ve got—someone in my life right now. And I was wondering—”  
  
“Like a girlfriend? Oh, Liam, I’m so happy for you, you deserve a lovely girl. What’s her name?”  
  
He winces. “Well, y’see, Mum, that’s sort of the thing. He’s a bloke.”  
  
“You’re—you’re with a man?”  
  
He scuffs his shoe into the ground and looks up at the sky, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Um, yeah.”  
  
There’s the faintest note of tears in her voice when his mum next speaks. “Were you afraid to tell me, Liam? Is that why you never—how long have you known that you were gay?”  
  
“Well, that’s sort of the other thing, now. I don’t know if I’m exactly gay? Like—well, I’m still figuring it out, yeah? But this guy I’m with . . . he’s proper amazing, Mum. We really love each other.”  
  
“I’m happy for you, darling,” she says. “I’ll always support you, yeah? No matter what. If you’re happy with him, then I’m happy for you, and I’m sure your dad feels the same way.”  
  
Liam smiles up at the sky, feeling an ocean of happiness wash over him. “Thanks so much, Mum.”  
  
“Now you have to tell me his name, and what he looks like, and when you’re going to bring him over.”  
  
“So it’s okay to bring him over? Cause that’s why I was calling you, like, I wanted you and Dad and him to be able to meet each other.”  
  
“I’d love to have him over,” she says firmly.  
  
“Thanks so much, Mum. Maybe in a few weeks, then? I’d still have to ask him if he’s okay with it and everything. I think he might be, though.”  
  
“If he’s a proper gentlemen than he should be,” she says, as if the very idea of someone not wanting to meet their partner’s parents was offensive beyond belief. Then her voice softens a bit. “Though I’m sure he’s lovely, Liam. Are you happy with him?”  
  
“Yeah,” he says. “Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  


Getting better, Zayn realizes, is hard work. Even with the help of Paul and Eleanor and Liam, it’s hard. There are days when he wakes up barely able to breathe, and day when he coughs so much he thinks he’ll choke, and days where his chest throbs so much he can’t speak, but all the helplessness and dizziness and pain is worth it to see his boys every morning, to wake up with Liam getting up to go jogging, to fall asleep with him at night. It’s hard, but every time he can’t walk because he’s coughing too hard, Niall’s there to help him stand; every time he hurts too much to speak, Harry somehow instinctively knows what he needs; and every time he feels like he’s never going to be the same again, like he’s going to be crippled and helpless his entire life, Louis darts to his side to make him laugh, and fuck all how much it hurts.  
  
(And Liam’s there, too, through the whole thing, helping him breathe just by being in sight. He thinks that if he didn’t want to live so badly, he could die happy like this, with the knowledge that Liam’s just around the corner, always waiting for him.)  
  
The thing is, Zayn needs both hands to count the amount of times he’s nearly died, either by his own doing or someone else’s. And there’s not one where he didn’t regret coming back, where he didn’t regret failing. He’s had a tough life—he doesn’t feel that it’s too self-pitying to say that—and most of the time all he wanted was an escape from it. But now . . . he feels like maybe he doesn’t want out so bad anymore. Maybe Liam healed something inside him when he was trying to wake him up. Maybe it has to do with purposefully letting go of his life for the boys and not for himself. Maybe it’s just that he’s finally let himself accept love from the four people who matter the most to him in the world, the love that they’ve always given him so willingly but that he’s never thought he’s deserved. The important thing is that he’s lived—he’s made it this far, through so much, and he’s finally found a home where he’s happy and loved.  
  
He’s pretty sure that’s something worth being proud of.  
  
The boys have taken some time off—because _you know what? We fucking deserve it_ , Louis says—to chill around the house, although Liam sometimes insists that they go on small, four-piece missions if he hears something particularly bad going on when he watches the news. Zayn’s usually restless on those days, pacing around the house with his phone in his hand, waiting for news. It’s not that he doesn’t think they can handle it without him, it’s just that he understands how Liam used to feel sometimes. Like he can’t do enough to help.  
  
“What do you mean, you haven’t _done enough_ to help?” Liam yelps when he accidentally vocalizes his feelings of helplessness. “You literally got yourself _killed_ saving us! I think you’ve done enough for a fucking lifetime, Zayn!”  
  
“Well—first of all, _almost killed_ —okay, but right now I’m not doing much—”  
  
“Listen,” Liam says. “Your job is to get better, yeah? That’s all you need to be doing right now.”  
  
“Yeah, okay, but—”  
  
“ _Zayn_. I’m serious. You know you can’t be going out on missions right now.”  
  
“No, I know that, but it doesn’t make it feel any better.”  
  
Liam’s face goes gentle, and he reaches over to sling an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, carefully pulling him into his side. It only hurts a little, probably because it’s Liam, and Liam couldn’t really hurt him unless he tried. “Listen, babe, I used to feel the same way, yeah? But eventually you’ll get past it, just like I did. Right now, you’re the most important thing. Well, you know—” and he blushes a little here “—you’re always the most important thing to me, but you have to let yourself be the most important thing to you as well for once right now, yeah? We can handle a few small mission by ourselves for now, and then once you’re properly better, everything will be normal again. You just need to get back up on your feet again first.”  
  
It’s a pretty nice way of saying _you’d be a liability to us while you’re still not well_ , so Zayn doesn’t let it hurt him. And really, Liam’s right. He’d probably be more of a nuisance than a help at this point.  
  
“Yeah, all right,” he sighs. “You’re being sensible. As usual.”  
  
Liam grins, and Zayn kisses the place on his cheek where it bunches up from his smile.  
  
“Listen,” Liam says. “Speaking of doing things when y’get better, I have a question for you.”  
  
“Fire away,” Zayn says. “Or least, not in the literal sense. I’ve already got three bullets in me.”  
  
“Pretty sure Eleanor took those out, babe.”  
  
“Whatever. Ask me your question.”  
  
“Okay,” and it’s only now that Zayn notices that Liam looks a bit nervous. “Okay, so I called me mum a few days ago when I went to visit Simon, all right, and I sort of—told her about us?”  
  
“Like, the powers and missions and everything?” Zayn’s pretty sure Liam wouldn’t let something like that slip.  
  
“No, no, like about you and me. And—what we’ve got.”  
  
“The boyfriend thing,” Zayn prompts.  
  
“The boyfriend thing, exactly. So I told her about that, and—wait, is that okay with you? That I told her?”  
  
Zayn thinks about it for a moment, wonders if Liam’s mother would like him, even as he is, with his nonexistent family and fucked up past. Wonders if he could ever be a part of Liam’s life like that. “I think so. Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”  
  
“Okay.” Liam lets out a soft sigh. “Okay, that’s good. So I told her that, and she was wonderful about it, y’know? Cause you know I’ve never been with a bloke before, so it came as a bit of a surprise, I think, but she was lovely about it. And she—well, she said she’d like to meet you. Like, maybe we could come over once you’re well, and have a visit or something. We can tell her we met in the military, cause that’s where she still thinks I’m working. And—yeah. So. I just wanna know if that’d be good with you. Meeting me mum and family and all.”  
  
Zayn chokes back a faint swell of emotion; once upon a time, he would have declined immediately because whose family would want to meet him? Zayn, dirty, broken, undeserving Zayn without a family or a house or a real accomplishment to call his own. No one would approve of their son being with someone like him. But somehow, somewhere along the line, he’s begun to feel worthy again. Like maybe he can start over, start looking people in the eyes again.  
  
“I’d—I’d love that, Leeyum,” he says in a small voice. “Do—d’you think they’d like me?”  
  
“I promise they’ll love you,” Liam says, sounding as though he’s a bit emotional himself. “I love you, so they will too. They’ll adore you, babe, just wait and see.”  
  
“Okay.” He lets out a deep breath and lets himself relax a little. “I’m sure I’ll love them too.”  
  
Liam kisses him at that, deepening it into something warm and passionate. Zayn smiles against his mouth, feels Liam’s warm arms around his waist.  
  
He’s alive. It’s hard, but he’s alive, and everything is going to be all right. 

  


Simon calls back the day after Zayn agrees to meet Liam’s parents. Liam’s actually quite excited to hear more about what he can do; after over a year of being powerless in the face of the boys’ cool abilities, he can’t wait to have something to show off for himself. The boys are almost more excited than he is, as well, which only adds to his mounting anticipation.  
  
“If you can bring Zayn back from the dead—”  
  
“Almost-dead,” Zayn calls from the kitchen.  
  
“Whatever, Zayn. If you can bring back his wretched ass from the literal brink of almost-death, think about what else you’d be able to do!” Louis says.  
  
“Probably all sorts of wicked stuff,” Niall affirms with a grin.  
  
Zayn walks into the living room, a glass of water in one hand, and the massive pile of pills Paul’s given him for pain, dizziness, coughing, and sleeping in the other. He sits down and points at Louis. “You’re a wanker.” Louis rolls his eyes magnificently as Zayn starts taking the pills one at a time at random before winking at Liam reassuringly. “I’m excited for ya, babe.”  
  
“I’m excited too,” Liam says as he opens up Simon’s voicemail. “Let’s see what he’s got.”  
  
“Hi, Liam, this is Simon calling,” Simon says in the voice message; his voice has the same level, professional cadence it had back at his flat. “So I’ve researched your powers a bit, and there’s no record of anyone having something like this for approximately three hundred years. Now of course that’s a bit of a problem, but we ran into the same thing with Zayn, so I knew where to look.”  
  
“What so far?” Louis asks.  
  
“Oh my _God_ , be patient, obviously he’s not done listening,” Harry says, hushing him dramatically. Louis tugs on one of his curls with a frown.  
  
“So I’ve been digging around in some relatively unknown sources, and basically what I’ve found is that you and Zayn have complementary powers,” Simon says over the phone as Liam tries to shush the boys. “To put it simply, you can manipulate the physical world the same way he can manipulate the mental one. You can change and warp the physical reality in ways that correspond with his ability to do the same in someone’s mental reality. Obviously, you already know a great deal about his powers, so that may help you estimate what you can do, but in case you want more information, here’s a few things you may be able to do according to a text I found from 1741.” Simon clears his throat. “Healing wounds both mild and grave—you already know that one—moving inanimate objects in defiance of gravity, creating heat and energy—I imagine that’s what you did that day in the office building—in some cases levitation of the body for a few minutes. So overall some pretty impressive stuff.”  
  
“ _Well_?” Louis hisses. Liam shushes him again, heart racing with excitement.  
  
“Oh, and the last person on record with this was actually Sir Isaac Newton, believe it or not. That’s quite interesting as well.” Simon pauses to clear his throat again, and then continues. “The last thing I found was about complementary powers. Apparently, meeting someone who has powers that complement your own is incredibly rare, and astronomically beneficial. As powerful as you both are alone, you will be a thousand times stronger if you work together.”  
  
Liam can barely contain his disbelief; it’s mind-boggling to think that he, simple old Liam who’d been powerless for so long, can do all this.  
  
“That’s all I’ve got for now, so I’ll be heading off to bed. If I find more I’ll leave you another message; in the meantime, try practicing with those powers of yours. It sounds like you’ll be able to do some pretty amazing things.” The voicemail ends, and Liam’s left listening to the dial tone, a massive grin spread across his face.  
  
“So what did he say?” Zayn asks eagerly.  
  
Liam turns to face them, still grinning his face off. “Well, boys,” he says, “it sounds like I’m quite the superhero.”

  


(After he tells them everything even Louis, famed for his cynicism, is impressed:  
  
“Complementary powers, huh. That’s quite sick. I would say that almost makes you two soulmates, if I could allow myself to be that cheesy.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry says. A grin strikes his face. “You’re a true power couple.”  
  
There’s a long silence, and then the sound of Louis facepalming.)

  


The ride to Liam’s family home in Wolverhamption is about two and a half hours from London. Zayn’s nervous the whole way there, fiddling with the radio and jittering in his seat until Liam takes one hand off the wheel and clasps Zayn’s fingers with what Zayn guesses is meant to be a reassuring smile.  
  
“Babe, you know there’s no need to be nervous. Everything will be fine.”  
  
Zayn wants to say that everything is probably _not_ going to be fine, and they’ll probably take one look at his tattoos and scars and decide that this is _not_ what they want for their son. Even worse, maybe they’ll somehow find out he used to live on the streets, and think he’s a free-loader or an addict or a criminal, or maybe—  
  
“I can hear your brain ticking away in there, and I know that you’re probably thinking all kinds of terrible shit. Me mum and dad are really nice people, though, babe. They’re not gonna hate you if they know I love you.”  
  
“Yeah, just—first time nerves?” Zayn manages with a nervous laugh. “Never met someone’s parents before.”  
  
Liam just smiles and pats his hand, and Zayn has to trust it’s going to be okay.  
  
The house itself is a solid brick structure with little pink flowers in the front yard. It’s a little weird, looking at something so suburban—he hasn’t gone far out of London in years, and the quiet normalcy of the street where Liam’s parents live is a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the city.  
  
“S’a bit strange,” Liam says, echoing his thoughts. “Haven’t been here in ages.”  
  
Zayn wonders if he’s thinking about going to school around here, about the days when he was a defenseless secondary schooler at the mercy of those older and larger than him, or if this house carries better memories to drown that time out.  
  
“Well, they’re expecting us,” Liam says after a minute. “We should probably go in.”  
  
Zayn swallows with a dry throat, tells himself that his panic is unnecessary. “Yeah.”  
  
As it turns out, his worries do in fact turn out to be unfounded. Liam’s mum is utterly lovely, and Liam’s dad is gruff but polite, and calls him “son.” They’re interested in what he does for the military and he tells them that he’s in classified intelligence—the word classified manages to shut down most of their more probing questions, so instead they grill him on hobbies and interests; he tells them about drawing and comics and music, and they seem charmed. Liam keeps catching his eye and beaming at him like he’s proud of Zayn’s basic conversation skills, or maybe he’s just happy that they’re all getting along, although honestly, Zayn thinks it’d be hard not to get along with people as nice as this.  
  
_So this is a real family_ , he thinks. _This is what I should have had_. It’s a bittersweet thought, but he doesn’t linger on it, just listens to Liam’s mum talk about Liam’s sisters with a fond smile.  
  
“Do you have any siblings, Zayn?” she asks. “I’m sure you’d get along with Liam’s, if you don’t.”  
  
“Um—well—” He hesitates for a moment, wondering how much he should say, how much he can say. There’s a brief second of eye contact with an apologetic looking Liam, and then he plows ahead. “Not really any siblings, no. I used to—I used to have sisters, but—there was a car crash. S’just me and me dad now.”  
  
“Oh.” Liam’s mother looks alarmed. “I’m so sorry for asking.”  
  
“S’all right, was a long time along,” he says with a shrug. “And Dad and I don’t, uh—we don’t get along very well, so I don’t have much in the way of family, I guess. So it’s really nice to come visit you guys.”  
  
The deflection works, and Liam’s mother coos at his last words, telling him that she considers him part of the family now, and that he can come by here any time he likes.  
  
“Ah, y’know, we’ll probably be too busy saving the world back in London, yeah,” Liam says lazily, grinning at his mother. “But we might find some time to drop by.”  
  
He throws Zayn a wink that scrunches up both eyes, and Zayn feels a warm glow spread through his chest.

  


They drive back at night when the highway is dark and empty, bejeweled with only a few fluorescent headlights. Zayn offers to drive so Liam can sleep, but Liam declines on the basis that Zayn’s still recovering and needs his rest (this is nothing but true; Zayn acts like he’s completely over almost being dead, but Liam still catches him wincing in pain and being prescribed pills by Eleanor and Paul). Zayn puts up a storm of protest that he’s _fine, you’re so protective, Liam_ , and then promptly passes out in the passenger seat for the next two and a half hours. It’s okay; he deserves the sleep. Liam just turns down the radio and swerves the potholes.  
  
Everything with his parents had gone great; for someone who hasn’t really ever interacted with a healthy family, Zayn had taken the questions and hugs and jokes in his stride. Sometimes Liam had looked over and seen him looking a little bit dazed, like he didn’t understand or it was going too fast, but usually he’d been smiling and engaged, charming Liam’s mum and dad effortlessly, even more so than the handful of girls Liam’s brought home before.  
  
Liam’s noticed that, though, noticed that Zayn’s been getting better—he doesn’t have nightmares every night, and he doesn’t flinch away from loud noises, and he’s gotten more confident. And ever since they found out that their powers go together, make each other stronger, he’s stopped being so cautious and critical of his powers. Even though he hasn’t said anything, Liam doesn’t think the older boy sees himself as a monster anymore. No, he thinks that Zayn is starting to heal himself on the inside just as Liam had healed his body. It’s taken them both to put him back together, but they’ve gotten over the roughest patch now.  
  
Before long, the lights of London blaze into view on the horizon, and then Liam is carrying Zayn up to their flat, dark hair tickling his neck. The other boys are already asleep when he maneuvers them both inside; it’s a bit tricky, but no one comes out to tell him to be quiet, and Zayn barely even stirs on his shoulder, so he’s successful enough. In the dark of the flat, Liam feels oddly routine and domestic, like he’s been doing this for years, this hushed, stumbling ritual of the night. Zayn’s weight feels like it has its own space in Liam’s arms, like he’s settled there and made a home as permanent as the one he has in Liam’s heart.  
  
Zayn stirs softly and then blinks awake, looking up at Liam with sleepy, squinty eyes when he’s set on the bed. “Could have woken me up, y’know,” he mumbles, dragging his knuckles over his face tiredly.  
  
“I know, I didn’t want to, though. It wasn’t a big deal, babe.”  
  
Zayn kicks off his clothes and crawls under the sheets in his boxers, eyes still half shut. “It is a big deal,” he says into the pillow. “So thanks.”  
  
Liam doesn’t say anything, just gets in bed next to him and reaches out his arms; Zayn rolls over into them automatically.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you too.”

  


“Me n’ Harry are goin’ in through the back,” Niall says. “Louis, I want you to make a distraction or something from inside, so they’ll leave the front entrance alone long enough for Zayn n’ Liam to get their asses in from the front, yeah? Sound good?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan, Muscle Man,” Louis says with a wink. “Wherever the lightning is, is where I’ll be. Take care of this idiot for me, yeah?”  
  
He kisses Harry on the cheek and jogs off, throwing a careless peace sign over one shoulder. Harry and Niall fist bump each and then Liam and Zayn, and then sneak off around the corner of the car park, hands on the guns in their waistbands. After a minute, there’s a blaze of lightning from the dark sky, and they’ve got their signal.  
  
“Looks like Lou’s gotten us our distraction,” Zayn says with a sharp grin. “After you, then.”  
  
They’re tackling one of the hardest missions they’ve had since Zayn’s been back on his feet, an attempt to shut down a group of kidnappers who’ve been prowling the poorer neighborhoods of London. The three day chase has led them here, an abandoned car garage in one of the city’s most unknown corners. Zayn knows he should be scared, at least a little, but lately he’s enjoyed missions so much that he doesn’t have much time for anything but adrenaline. Ever since he and Liam have started using their powers together, it’s been elating to feel the way that they make each other stronger, take each other higher. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt when experimenting with his powers.  
  
Liam steps into the carpark, looking around nervously as Zayn slips in next to him.  
  
“Are we clear?”  
  
“It looks like it, yeah.”  
  
Zayn grins again, reaches out his hand towards Liam’s. “Then let’s go.”  
  
Liam takes his hand and returns his smile. This is something they both look forward to.  
  
“Oh, and Liam?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You make me feel like a superhero.”  
  
For a moment, he thinks Liam doesn’t know what he means, but then the smile on his boyfriend’s face widens. “I love you too, idiot. Let’s do this for real.”  
  
Zayn lets his power loose and searches out the minds of the criminals they’re looking for. He takes them over and makes them freeze in place, feels Liam throws and pin them against a wall a moment later with nothing but his powers, holding them in place from a hundred meters away. Zayn riffles through their minds while they’re defenseless, makes sure that they don’t have any relevant information before neatly shutting down the places where their violent urges reside, feeling Liam send a wave of energy throughout the carpark beside him to check for any other dangers. It’s exhilarating, the feeling of being so closely connected with the person he loves more than anything, more intimate and adrenaline filled than any other thing in the world. They’re a flawless team together; it only takes a few moments for them to jointly subdue half of criminals before moving to the other half that were engaged with Harry, Niall, and Louis.  
  
_It’s not bad, this ridiculously superhero-y life_ , Zayn realizes as he stands there with the boy he loves, feeling their powers course through them like living fire, strengthening the bond of their linked hands and pouring out into the world to rid it of evil. _It’s not bad at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sobs endlessly* What am I going to do with my life now? I'm been writing this for something like four or five months. Can you believe that when I started this, I was planning on ten chapters and thirty or forty thousand words? Yeah....imagine that....this thing is now longer than the first Harry Potter book by roughly 5k words. (Yes, I really checked and that's actually true). I've never written something of such epic proportions before.  
> Thank you guys for much for reading, leaving kudos, translating this, and writing comments that made me squeal every time I opened one up. My humble little fic does not deserve a fraction of the love you've shown it. I also very sincerely hope that the ending is satisfying in all ways.  
> I'm going to start working on my next fic soon, which will also be a ziam fic. It's gonna be a super fluffy highschool AU oneshot (albeit a preeettty long oneshot). I haven't started writing it yet, and I'm not sure how long it's gonna be, so who knows when it'll be up, but I'm hoping to shoot for sometime in July? No promises. But please do drop in and read it once it's done, if you'd like.  
> Okay....that's it....I'm very sad now. Come say goodbye in the comments or something. Leave me kudos if you haven't done that. Thank you all for sticking with the fic this far. My (new, updated, official) tumblr is [here](http://iambluehead.tumblr.com), so if you wanna message or follow me, feel free! That's all, guys. You rock.


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